


Anything for You

by beersforqueers



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: All The Tropes, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, I'm not ready, M/M, Porn With Plot, Tropes, Weddings, but really, fake relationship au, holy fuck is there angst, it's coming for us
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-30 20:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6440107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beersforqueers/pseuds/beersforqueers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this <a href="http://omgbeersforqueers.tumblr.com/post/140808445032/post-breakup-aus">prompt</a>. In which Sokka and Zuko have broken up but Sokka hasn't told his family yet. So when Katara and Aang's wedding weekend rolls around and he doesn't want to break Gran-Gran's heart, he asks Zuko to pretend to be his boyfriend for one last weekend.</p><p>Things don't go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Week Before

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do something fun for my 16th Zukka fic (yup, we just hit Sweet 16, holy SHIT, breathing into a paper bag), so here is a Fake Relationship AU. 
> 
> This fic definitely wouldn't have happened if it weren't for Piyo13, who is now my amazing beta reader (which makes me feel super legit, lemme tell you). Thanks for listening to me babble at 2 in the morning and for being like, "YES, PACKING IN AS MANY ROMANTIC COMEDY TROPES AS POSSIBLE IS AN EXCELLENT IDEA."
> 
> Title because there was some Foster the People on the playlist I listened to while writing and Piyo was like "NO, you can't just call it 'Obligatory Fake Relationship AU', bro."

For once Zuko is thrilled to be getting a phone call in the middle of a meeting. The old gas bags on the board are giving him shit again and honestly, the last thing he wants to do right now is explain to a bunch of elderly white men why their preferred approach to social media is dumb. He isn’t even sure that any of them would know how to turn on their own computers if they didn’t employ a small army of young, attractive female assistants to help them.

“Zuko, sir,” James pops his head through the door, making several of the suits turn around reprovingly. “I mean…” he realizes his error in formality a second late and blushes, but Zuko waves him on. He doesn’t give any fucks if his assistant calls him by his first name; prefers it even. “You have an important phone call. I don’t think it can wait.”

Zuko jumps to his feet a little too hastily and tries to stroll toward the door. “Be back soon, gentlemen,” he says, and pulls the door shut with a snap behind him. One of his colleagues is already on his feet looking overwhelmed as the board fires questions at him. Poor Dave.

“Is it actually important?” Zuko mutters as they march down the hall to his office.

James shrugs and grins, “Could be!”

Zuko chuckles, then feels the smile slide off his face as James continues, “It’s Sokka, so I figured you’d want to—what?”

“Nothing,” Zuko says quickly, picking up his pace.

“Are you two fighting?” James looks concerned at whatever expression is on Zuko’s face right now. Zuko tries to school it into a more neutral one, but the worry on James’ face intensifies. Goddamn, he is _terrible_ at pretending.

 _Actually, we broke up, but I_ _’_ _m too chicken-shit to tell anyone about it_ , he thinks, but all he says is, “Something like that.”

He ducks into his office before James can ask any more questions, and drops heavily into his armchair. The light on his phone is blinking to remind him someone is on hold, and he picks up the receiver with a sigh.

“What,” he says flatly. “I thought we agreed to one month of silence for every year we were—“

“I know, I know, I know.” Sokka is already talking a mile a minute. When Zuko closes his eyes against the swell of emotion at the sound of his voice, he can picture him so clearly: arms pinwheeling wildly while he cradles his iPhone between his shoulder and cheek, too hyperactive to sit down and talk like a normal person. “I’m sorry, I know I said I wouldn’t do this, I’m a terrible person, I’m a bad ex, I know we said we wanted to be friends, but not yet, but I have this problem—“

“Sokka, cut to the chase,” Zuko says, still in that dead tone of voice that doesn’t sound like him.

“Right.” Sokka, evidently picking up on Zuko’s mood for once, gets right to it. “I have a favor to ask. It’s a big one. So, uh, funny story, but I kind of haven’t told anyone that we broke up yet? And so they’re just sort of _assuming_ that you’re still my plus one to Aang and Katara’s wedding next weekend?” He finishes the sentence like a question, pauses a moment to let that sink in, then plows on. Zuko’s chest feels very tight. He has a strange feeling that he knows exactly where this is going. “And you know how Gran Gran just loves you so much and I don’t really know how to tell them and it’ll probably break her heart if I do, and it’s so selfish, I know, but I also don’t want her to have a heart attack, and—“

“I’ll go with you to the wedding,” Zuko blurts out, eyes flying open in shock at his own words. _Oh shit, why did you do that, Zuko, why?!_

“Wait, what? Really?” Sokka practically squeaks, and the mixture of giddiness and guilt and relief in his voice (almost) makes Zuko stop regretting it. “You’d do that for me? Holy shit, I love you—I mean, um,” Sokka cuts himself off and there’s an audible smacking sound through the line, like Sokka has face planted onto a hard surface.

Zuko tries to get his breathing under control.

“It’s fine,” he says quietly. “I know what you mean. Of course I’d do that for you. I’d do anyth—” it’s his turn to pull up short and turn red.

They just sit on the phone for a couple of seconds, each stewing in their own miserable embarrassment, until Sokka finally breaks the awkward silence.

“I’ll, um, email you the details?” he asks.

“Yes, please email James,” Zuko says, hoping that asking Sokka to arrange through his assistant is both impersonal enough to preserve his sanity and not a dick move.

“I have the plane ticket for you already,” Sokka says. “Katara booked them for us before I even thought to tell her... So. I’ll see you. Thursday. Bye.” There’s a click and the line goes dead before Zuko can get another word in.

“Right,” he drops the phone into his lap and leans forward to prop his elbows on his desk. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until bright colors pop behind his lids, until he feels able to call James in to let him know about the impending email. “Just rearrange my schedule however seems practical,” he says.

“Um, sir, I never scheduled anything for this weekend.” James looks massively confused. “You have your boyfriend’s sister’s wedding, right?”

“Oh! Right,” Zuko had forgotten for a moment that Sokka wasn’t the only one keeping the break up quiet. “Okay, good. Uh. That’s all.” James ducks out, obviously bemused, and Zuko groans. He’s fucking things up left and right today.

He spins around in his chair, staring out over the Chicago skyline. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the little bookshelf he’d set up behind his desk, crammed with photos of himself and Sokka. He should probably clear that out—it’s been weeks, after all—but the thought of admitting to yet another failure isn’t particularly appealing. And it _is_ pretty depressing how few other photos he has to repopulate its shelves. Maybe he should just take it down and bring the whole thing home, but his apartment has looked like a creepy shrine to Sokka since he’d moved out.

So what if Zuko feels like crying every time he thinks about packing up the remainder of Sokka’s stuff? Surely a McGill sweatshirt on the sofa, a hair tie here or there, and a couple of boxes of Sokka’s favorite cereal don’t need to go anywhere? Although come to think of it, he should probably stop buying that Go Lean shit. He doesn’t even like it.

Maybe this weekend will be a good thing. He can get closure, say his private goodbyes to Sokka’s family, even take an extra day off at the end to recover.

Yeah, and maybe Aang _won_ _’_ _t_ choose “Wind Beneath my Wings” for his and Katara’s first dance.

He can dream.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I (Piyo) also wants in on the shameless self-promo: [here's a link to my art blog/the illustration post,](http://piyo13sdoodles.tumblr.com/post/142152577436/so-omgbeersforqueers-wrote-this-fic-anything-for) and here's [my personal](http://piyo-13.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [beersforqueers on tumblr](http://omgbeersforqueers.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also: there are like 4 more chapters to this already written because I like procrastinating, so subscribe! Once we have them edited they'll be up.


	2. Thursday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the second chapter! Where shit starts actually happening! TENSIONY TENSION!
> 
> Update: there was some weirdness with an edit made before it was posted and so I fixed it cause there was a paragraph down there describing the house that just sort of didn't make sense? IT MAKES SENSE NOW.

“You came!”

Sokka has absolutely no right to look as delighted as he does.

“I wasn’t going to stand you up,” Zuko says grumpily. Sokka is standing against the windows by the gate, his soft brown hair pulled back into his usual ponytail—sides freshly trimmed for the occasion—and wearing a bright blue sweatshirt and a pair of dark jeans. His black sneakers look new, as do the pair of aviators perched jauntily atop his head. He’s either bulked up, started buying smaller clothes, or Zuko has never truly appreciated _just_ how broad his shoulders are.

Weeks apart and the sight makes him feel slightly dizzy all over again. _You are not a teenage girl_ , Zuko thinks, then mentally apologizes to teenage girls everywhere. Most of them are probably only half as dramatic as he is. _Don_ _’t swoon or they won_ _’t let you on the plane_.

“The flight’s only like, two hours long.” Sokka helpfully divests Zuko of his carry-on and slings it over one muscular shoulder. “Everyone’s coming down from Nunavut today or tomorrow, and the lakes’ll be really pretty this time of year. I know you don’t like Canada, but—"

“I don’t have any problem with Canada,” Zuko interjects. “I just don’t like travel.”

“Or the wilderness, I know,” Sokka rolls his eyes.

“I’ve visited your family before!” Zuko protests. He should not be painted as the bad guy in this situation.

“Under duress,” Sokka smirks, but his words have no censure in them. He stares at Zuko for a moment too long, and Zuko feels his face turn red. _Again_. “You look good,” Sokka says at last, stepping in just a hair too close to finger at Zuko’s red cashmere scarf. “It’s not gonna be _cold_ ,” he grins. “Did you pack a parka, too?”

“No,” Zuko says with dignity. “But fifties isn’t _warm_ , either.”

“It’s practically a summer wedding.” Sokka still looks highly amused. Zuko wonders if it’s been too long after their break up for hitting him to be excusable. “It’s like, ten degrees there, you’ll be fine.”

“Celsius is dumb,” Zuko mutters, which naturally makes Sokka laugh. Zuko glares, and Sokka laughs harder. “I hate you.”

That wipes the smile off of Sokka’s face, and he looks stricken for a moment. Zuko tries to recover, but the agent at the gate is calling them to board, and all he can do is shoot Sokka an apologetic look before they line up. Sokka is still carting Zuko’s carry-on along as they board.

He slides into the window seat, doing his breathing exercises while Sokka stows his bag.

“All good?” Sokka leans in, his stupid muscle-y body taking up more than its allotted amount of space. Zuko wonders if he’ll make even more of an ass out of himself if he pointedly lowers the armrest between them. In the interest of avoiding conflict, he decides against it and nods at Sokka.

All he wants at this point is to shrink against the window and put on his headphones, but Sokka apparently has other plans.

"So how do you wanna play this?" he asks seriously. "It's up to you. You gotta be comfortable."

"Ummm..." Zuko hasn't really thought that far ahead. He's spent the past week oscillating between panic and pitiful excitement about seeing Sokka again, and the entire car ride to the airport had been spent trying to keep anxious nausea at bay. He hasn't seen Sokka since that last fight, and it feels deceptively easy, being around him again.

He's waiting for the anvil to drop and smash him flat like a cartoon character. By the end of the long weekend they'll be scraping him off the ground with a spatula.

"I mean, we'll pretend to still be together?" Sokka asks, lowering his voice when Zuko glances at the people around them. They aren't paying them any mind, too busy perusing the inflight magazine or corralling small children into seat buckles. "You don't like PDA, so that shouldn't be too hard," he says, with only the faintest hint of bitterness bleeding into his voice.

Zuko takes a moment to think over his response: the air between them suddenly seems fraught with tension. He can remember only too clearly Sokka's words not-so-long-ago, " _What do you tell them at work? That I'm your roommate? Your adopted kid brother? Too ashamed to just tell the truth?_ " " _I tell them you're my best friend, Sokka! What else do you want from me? It's the truth, isn't it?!_ " " _Is it, Zuko? You don't even want to be seen with me. A best friend isn't supposed to be treated like your dirty little secret!_ " “ _You signed on for this!_ ” “ _I signed on for_ you _, Zuko, not for_ this.”

"Zuko? Zuuu-ko?" Sokka is waving a hand in front of his face, and Zuko turns to stare at him. The dry airplane air feels like it's leaching the moisture from his throat.

"Yeah, we'll just pretend," Zuko nods, "It'll be fine. Easy." The plane starts taxiing, and Zuko ignores the way Sokka is staring at him with that pinched look on his face. _Easy_ , he repeats to himself, flipping mindlessly through a magazine. _Easy_.

The flight, unfortunately, is long enough for Sokka to fall asleep just after take off, and if Zuko felt awkward before, he's feeling downright uncomfortable now. Sokka has slumped sideways into his lap, his head cushioned on Zuko's thigh, his hair spilling out of its ponytail and into his face. Zuko has to restrain himself from smoothing it back.

He sits very still for the duration of the flight, thanking God that it's a smooth ride. When the stewardess brings around the customs forms she smiles down at them indulgently and lowers her voice to say, "You two are so cute," before she moves along to the next row. Zuko's ears burn, but he doesn't have the heart to correct her.

 _Dammit, we_ were _cute_ , he thinks, surly. He has the "best friend" pictures to prove it.

Eventually they're landing, though, and he prods Sokka gently in the shoulder. Sokka rolls over onto his back awkwardly, splaying out with his long legs bent in the aisle, arms stretched out over his head so that they bracket Zuko’s legs. He blinks sleepily up at Zuko and smiles slowly, that same heavy-lidded expression that had glued Zuko to the bed on so many lazy weekend mornings.

Zuko feels a little piece of himself crack open as Sokka blinks more rapidly and comes fully awake. He looks chagrined and sits up quickly, clearing his throat and taking the customs form that Zuko proffers silently.

"I still have to fill it out even if I'm a citizen?" he gripes half-heartedly, blowing a few strands of hair out of his face. They flutter back, and Zuko actually sits on his hands to stop himself from brushing them behind his ear.

Zuko doesn't answer, too distracted.

They land and deplane, Sokka grabbing Zuko’s carry-on before he can even make a move toward the overhead bin. It’s a little awkward being behind Sokka, trying not to stare blatantly at his ass while still feeling the ghostly imprint of his weight across his legs.

“I don’t know who’s picking us up, but… Dad!” Sokka unceremoniously thrusts Zuko’s bag into his arms as he runs forward, nearly bowling Hakoda over with his eagerness. “Oh, hey! Everyone!” He lets go of his dad and grabs Katara and Suki, and Toph swiftly sidesteps to avoid the melee. The whole gang is leaning up against Hakoda’s dingy green pick up, looking a little windblown. Zuko peers into the cab and sees that it can only fit two people. Aang hops cheerfully down from the passenger side and bounces up to Zuko, grabbing him around the waist.

“Hello, son,” Hakoda claps him on the shoulder, leaning over Aang, whose grip feels like it’s tightening the longer he clings.

“Hello, sir,” Zuko wheezes. Then, down at Aang, “Missed you too, buddy.”

“I’m so happy you’re here,” Aang warbles, letting go. Zuko is confused about how Aang, barely shorter than he is, still manages to seem so tiny while containing such an outsize personality. “I’m getting married!” he bellows, so excited he can’t contain himself.

“I know,” Zuko says, smiling despite himself. “I’m happy to be here.” He glances toward Sokka who is chatting animatedly with his sister, but then Suki and Toph sidle up to say hello as well.

“We were gonna let Aang ride in the back on the way up, but he got a little overexcited,” Suki says, eyes crinkling like she’s trying to contain laughter, “But you can ride in the cab on the way back. I doubt the bed is your speed.”

“Um, no, thanks,” Zuko says, ignoring Toph’s undignified cackle.

“Princess,” she snorts, and drags him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Ow.”

“All right kids, load up,” Hakoda nearly has to bodily toss Aang into the bed of the truck, but he lands unscathed and quivering with excitement beside Katara. She smiles at him fondly and takes his hand. He draws it to his lips and kisses her knuckles, making her blush. Zuko looks away and climbs in beside Hakoda.

“So,” Hakoda says once they’re on the road. “How’s my son treating you?”

“ _Do you even want this?_ ” “ _Of course I do! That_ _’_ _s not fair!_ ” “ _What about what_ _’_ _s fair to_ me _? Do you care about that?_ ” “ _What kind of question is that? You_ _’_ _re the most important person in my life!_ ” “ _It doesn_ _’_ _t feel that way to me, Zuko_.”

“Really well,” Zuko decides. That has to be safe, right?

“How long’s it been now?” Hakoda asks mildly. “You’ve been best friends…”

“Since he and Katara moved to Chicago,” Zuko says.

“God, Sokka was only 23, what? Six years ago? You kids are so old now,” Hakoda runs a hand through his gray streaks, “that must make me ancient.”

“You’re barely over 40,” Zuko smiles gamely, and Hakoda roars with laughter.

“Flatterer. No wonder my boy’s been practically married to you these past few years,” Hakoda runs at his chin thoughtfully, treating the stick shift with such blatant disregard that Zuko momentarily fears for all of their lives. “Katara getting married makes me think, you know?” he confides, eyes twinkling. “You thinking of making an honest woman of Sokka?”

Words die in Zuko’s throat and he swallows around them, clearing his throat to try and cover for his moment of weakness. _It_ _’_ _ll be easy_ , he thinks to himself again.

“Maybe,” he hedges.

“What, are you nervous about it?” Hakoda glances over at him kindly. “He’ll say yes, don’t worry. And you have my blessing, like you need it anyway. You boys do whatever you damn well please.” He laughs again.

“Good to know,” Zuko practically whispers. He needs some water. To drink, splash on his face, drown in, he doesn’t care. This was a terrible idea and Sokka owes him favors for all of eternity. _This is where I die_ , he thinks sadly, _In the cab of this truck, lying to the one man who has acted like a father to me, while my ex chats up_ his _beautiful ex in the back. This is it, I_ _’_ _m ready to go. Will it be from the shame or the embarrassment?_

Probably the shame, he decides, when he crawls out of the cab and is immediately accosted by Gran-Gran.

“You!” she barks immediately, seizing a nonexistent pinch of fat over his cheekbone. She glares at Sokka, “Feed this boy better or there’ll be a skeleton next to you at the altar and that won’t look good in photographs.” Then she rounds on Katara and drags her away for a final dress fitting.

Zuko reels back a little before Sokka grabs him by the arm and marches him toward the house, muttering, “Just walk it off. Until the wedding’s over, anyone could go sideways on us.” He shoots a dark look toward his grandmother’s frail, retreating figure, “Even Gran-Gran.”

“Gran-Gran would never commit axe murder,” Zuko says, feeling like someone has to inject some sense into the conversation.

“You never know,” Sokka whispers warningly, “shit gets real up in the territories.”

“And you wonder why I don’t visit more,” Zuko says, and gets a reproving smack on the arm for his efforts. _So I_ _’_ _m not allowed to want to deck him, but he can hit all he wants? Unfair._

Zuko has, in fact, been to Sokka’s family house before (one summer years ago, back when they were still “just friends”), and the house looks exactly the same: small and built low alongside a tiny lake. A small wooden jetty sticks out into the water, mooring a few rowboats and a battered kayak. Workmen are busy setting up an enormous white cloth tent a little way along the bank. Katara had always wanted to get married at her childhood home, and Aang, being Aang, was overjoyed by the idea.

“So Gran-Gran wants us to sleep in here,” Sokka says as he drags the bags up the last few stairs and shoulders open a door at the top of the landing. Zuko pokes his head inside. It’s a guest room that can be described as “quaint”, with lots of dappled light streaming in through the eyelet curtains. The view looks out over the lake, painted gold by the late-afternoon sunlight, and there is an honest-to-god dust ruffle and handmade quilt on the queen size bed.

“There's only one bed,” Zuko says, staring at it numbly.

“Well obviously they don’t know that’s an issue,” Sokka says grimly. “Listen, I can take the floor, I don’t mind, really—"

“It’s your family’s house, you should take the bed.” Zuko sizes up the armchair in the corner. It’s large and squishy-looking, and he could fold up on it to sleep without too much trouble.

“That’s stupid, you’re doing me a huge favor by being here, you get the bed.” Sokka’s jaw is set in that dumb stubborn way of his, but quite frankly Zuko has reached a point where seeing Sokka in any kind of pain makes him want to retch. Even if it’s unnecessarily self-sacrificing sleeping arrangements.

“We’ll just share the bed,” he says, avoiding all eye contact, and goes to put his bag in the closet.

“Are you sure?” Sokka asks.

“ _Come to bed_.” “ _No_.” “ _Please, Sokka_.” “ _I said no_.” “ _Fine. Fine. Sleep out here, be miserable. I don_ _’_ _t even care_.” “ _Yeah, I_ _’_ _m well aware_.”

Zuko sucks in a deep breath, “Of course. It’s a giant bed, we’re grown ups. It’ll be fine.” _It_ _’_ _ll be easy, it_ _’_ _ll be fine, you aren_ _’_ _t going to combust_.

 

* * *

 

Dinner is awkward. Katara and Aang are being cute and coupley, and oh, would you look at that, in that almost-month-when-everyone-thought-Zuko-was-just-working-a-lot-but-actually-he’d-been-trying-not-to-die-of-a-broken-heart, Toph and Suki had gotten together, too. Now _they_ _’_ _re_ all cute and coupley as well. Excellent.

It doesn’t help that Gran-Gran and Hakoda keep looking over at Sokka and Zuko with fond eyes like they’re expecting them to start feeding each other stuff and cooing. Zuko concentrates determinedly on his plate, but he can feel Sokka looking sideways at him. He's not subtle.

Finally he gives up and puts his right hand on the table, eyeing Sokka meaningfully until he gets the idea and twines their fingers together. Hakoda and Gran-Gran grin at each other, and Suki goes all soft around the eyes.

Zuko hates everyone.

Sokka most of all, because he missed holding his fucking hand, no matter what Sokka thinks. And now he’s holding that hand so that people can actually see it, and it’s for show, a lie, and, _Hold yourself to-fucking-gether, Zuko, you are at a goddamn family dinner and you will_ not _cry. Keep up your end of the favor-thing and get over yourself._

This can’t be easy for Sokka, either. Zuko looks over at him, but he’s smiling and talking to Toph, and his thumb is rubbing little circles against the back of Zuko’s.

Zuko takes some deep breaths and finishes his food.

 

* * *

 

They are walking up the stairs to bed, and Zuko is sweating.

It's a cold sweat, and he feels both gross and grossed out, because before this moment he didn’t know what people meant when they used that phrase.

Sokka’s ass is roughly at face level, and as he is _extremely_ intimately acquainted with it in a variety of compromising situations, this is both distracting and anxiety-provoking. Those jeans are obscenely tight, and quite frankly Zuko is judging Sokka a little bit for wearing them in front of his grandmother.

Okay, not really, but hes definitely judging himself for having impure thoughts while Gran-Gran is creakily climbing the stairs behind him.

 _You_ _’_ _re a terrible person_ , he tells himself, and then immediately hears Dr. Jees voice telling him not to engage in negative self-talk. _Even if I deserve it for thinking about eating my ex out with an adorable old woman in the room?_

Well, that’s _one_ question he’s _never_ going to ask his shrink about.

They finally make it upstairs (why did the fourteen steps feel like 2000?) and into the bedroom, but not before Gran-Gran cackles and calls, “I know you boys can’t make me a great-grand baby, but the walls aren’t too thin to try!”

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” Sokka slams the door behind them and slides down it, burying his face in his hands. “Did she really just say that? How many glasses of wine did she have at dinner??”

“Two." He’d been too antsy to eat or drink much at dinner, and had handed his glass over to her when she’d deplored the idea of good wine going to waste.

“No one should ever let that woman drink, they underestimate how evil she actually is,” he moans.

Zuko leaves Sokka to his horrified mumbling on the floor and goes to the closet for his PJs. He has a moment of crisis when he remembers that Sokka usually sleeps naked. And that even when he goes to bed wearing pants, the pants are frequently lost at some point during the night.

This could become _highly_ problematic.

Trying to put that disconcerting thought of his head, he grabs his pajamas and heads into the bathroom to change. He brushes his teeth, stalling long enough to make sure Sokka has hadtime to change in the bedroom before he returns.

When he walks out, Sokka is already in bed, blankets pulled modestly up to his chin. He blinks sleepily at Zuko and says, “I know you like the left side of the bed.”

“Uh, thanks.” He climbs in and looks at Sokka for a second. He has a ridiculous urge to shove a pillow between them, but it’s a big bed, he can stick to his side… _You just don_ _’_ _t want to_ , a traitorous part of his brain whispers. _Shut up, you_ , he tells it sternly.

“Okay, well, good night,” Sokka says stiffly, and rolls over to shut off the light.

“Good night,” Zuko murmurs back.

_One day down, five more to go. Easy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Piyo's art blog](http://piyo13sdoodles.tumblr.com/) and [Piyo's personal](http://piyo-13.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> [beersforqueers on tumblr](http://omgbeersforqueers.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> Also: there are like 4 more chapters to this already written because I like procrastinating, so subscribe! Once we have them edited they'll be up. 
> 
> Also also: I LOVE COMMENTS. If you were thinking about saying something and then were like "nah", redact that nah, cause I wanna hear from you :-)


	3. Friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of Piyo's beta comments on this chapter were things like "Pining Level 3000" and "Pining Level 4000" and "Pining level 5000" 
> 
> So. 
> 
> Read on if that's what you're into.

Zuko wakes up the next morning with a long line of heat against his side. He isn’t fully awake yet, just enough to want to snuggle closer to his new friend, the Giant Warm Thing. The Warm Thing that is breathing, its chest rising and falling gently.

 _Oh, shit. Shitshitshitshitshit_. His brain goes into panic mode. He is cuddled right up against Sokka, somehow having bridged the span of the bed during the night.

He takes stock of the direness of the situation.

It is a bad situation.

Sokka is lying on his back, and sure enough, has lost all of his sleepwear during the night. Zuko wriggles his toes and feels the smooth cotton of Sokka’s sleep pants where they’re shoved into the crease at the bottom of the bed. His head is pillowed on Sokka’s chest, hand pressed to his sternum, their legs tangled. To make matters (much) worse, his hips are flush with Sokka’s bare thigh, and it’s morning.

Which means this isn’t just awkward, it’s _really goddamn embarrassing._

He opens his eyes at last, peeling his hand off of Sokka’s skin one finger at a time. He chances a look up at Sokka’s face and nearly jumps out of his skin.

Sokka is awake. Awake and staring intently at Zuko, who rolls off of him so quickly that he falls out of bed. This is not Sokka’s just-woke-up-and-unsure-of-where-I-am look, this is Sokka’s I-am-intensely-focused-on-a-physics-problem look.

The biggest issue with rolling out of bed so quickly is that if Zuko’s erection wasn’t obvious before, it sure as hell is now. The second issue is that when Zuko rolled, he yanked the covers with him, and, um…

Sokka doesn’t even move, so completely unabashed that Zuko stays frozen in shock. Sokka is naked and hard, the sheets dragged halfway off of his body and the golden morning light making him look like some absurdly built Greek statue.

Zuko makes a sound that is halfway between a moan and a sob, and suddenly Sokka blinks and the focused look disappears.

“You, uh,” he looks down at himself and turns bright red, yanking the comforter back up, “looked really peaceful. And, um.” He glances meaningfully down at the tent in Zuko’s pants, “I wasn’t sure what…”

_To do about my morning wood? Your morning wood? EVERYONE’S goddamn morning wood?_

Zuko does the only thing he can think of and bolts to the bathroom. Because running from his problems have clearly always stood him in good stead with Sokka.

 

* * *

 

When he comes back out Sokka is gone. Zuko grabs the first clothes he can lay his hands on and throws them on, praying to God that the rest of the weekend can somehow recover from this.

 _Hahahaha no way!_ his brain helpfully jeers.

The kitchen is at the back of the house, with giant windows letting in the morning light. Everyone is up having breakfast at the scrubbed wooden table off to the side, and Suki hands him a cup of coffee as soon as he’s within arms’ reach.

“Scrambled eggs?” She smiles sweetly and doesn’t wait for an answer before shoving a plate at him.

“Is that my sweatshirt?” Sokka is sitting opposite him, pausing his methodical annihilation of a mountain of eggs to stare bemusedly at Zuko.

“Ummm.” Zuko looks down at himself and wants to die. The giant McGill coat of arms is splashed across his chest, little red birds too cheerful for this fucking morning. “Yeah, I guess it is,” he admits.

Sokka arches an eyebrow at him, looking caught halfway between irritated and amused. “I wondered where that was.”

“I was gonna give it back,” Zuko says quietly. Sokka’s eyes drop to his plate, humor gone.

“You should keep it,” he mutters, loading up his fork again, “looks better on you.”

“I think it’s so cute when Aang borrows my University of Chicago t-shirts!” Katara chirps up helpfully. Zuko looks around the table fearfully, but no one seems to have picked up on the weird moment between him and Sokka.

“Yeah, Toph sneaks mine, too,” Suki laughs. “They don’t even fit, but she keeps trying.”

“They smell like you,” Toph shrugs unapologetically.

“Weirdo,” Suki elbows her, blushing to the roots of her hair.

Zuko’s eyes snap to Sokka’s and away again. Now a solid two-thirds of the table is blushing all over the place.

Yes, the sweatshirt smells like Sokka. _It’s not like I sleep with it sometimes to feel better about being alone. Oh, wait. I do._

He starts eating. The eggs are probably delicious, but right now they taste like ash.

 

* * *

 

Because it’s Sokka’s family, after breakfast Gran Gran pushes them out of the house to go be with nature.

Zuko hates nature.

He tells this to Sokka, who laughs at him. “You’ll be fine. We’ll wander around the lake, let everyone think we’re making out in the woods, and come back in time for lunch,” he assures Zuko. Meanwhile, Aang and Katara are taking fanny packs out of the closet to stuff with granola bars because _of course_ they are. Toph and Suki are giggling not-so-discretely at them, and Zuko is pretty sure he sees Toph slide a flask into her back pocket for their row-boating trip. He is promptly very jealous that he isn’t allowed to pair off with Toph for the morning.

“This is stupid,” he says as they find the path at the edge of the yard and set off around the water.

“Breathe in the crisp Canadian air, observe the beautiful spring buds,” Sokka intones, then inhales ostentatiously and grins at him.

“Get eaten alive by fat Canadian mosquitoes,” Zuko smacks at one landing on his arm.

“It’s a little early for mosquitoes,” Sokka looks personally offended.

“It’s never too early for those fuckers,” Zuko says crossly.

They walk in silence for a little while, Sokka obviously enjoying the muffled sounds of the trees creaking around them, the soft lapping of the water against the rocks edging the lake. Meanwhile Zuko tries (with varying levels of success) not to trip over every single hidden branch and root. Sokka keeps pausing to catch him by the elbow when he stumbles, barely breaking his stride.

By the time they reach the other side of the lake, Zuko is both sweaty and feeling the morning chill in all of his extremities. Sokka looks fresh and dewy, like he’s just stepped out of a very gay and out-doorsy J. Crew catalogue.

They reach a small clearing where a rocky promontory stretches out into the water. Years ago, Hakoda had bolted a metal park bench to the rock at the tip. Sokka makes for it, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles, throwing his arm lazily over the back of the seat.

Zuko picks his way across the uneven ground and sits down at the opposite end. Sokka, as usual, is taking up as much room as possible, and now that they’ve stopped moving, he can feel the tension building again. Sokka pulls his arm back in and leans forward, choosing a sun-bleached stick from among the small stones at his feet. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pocketknife.

Zuko recognizes it.

“You still have that?” he asks, surprised. “I gave that to you—"

“For our first anniversary,” Sokka turns the handle over, running a broad thumb across the inscription on the side: _Love is the answer to everything._ "I can’t believe you got a Ray Bradbury quote etched into it,” he smiles down at it a little wistfully, “You really know the way to a guy’s heart.” He clicks it open and bends over the stick, carefully shaving away at it.

Zuko watches him work for a minute, feeling conflicted about whether or not to try to strike up a conversation. He’s oddly touched that Sokka still carries that knife around, and that he’s using it now. It looks a little worn, but the blade is sharp as it slices through the wood. He obviously takes good care of it.

They only broke up, what? Three weeks ago? Four, now? He supposes that nothing would have changed that much in a month or so, but he feels different. Sitting here with Sokka, he feels like he’s been lulled into a false sense of security, dropped into this weird alternate universe where he really _is_ still with Sokka. Maybe if they just stay here for the rest of their lives, Sokka will still love him and want to be with him. He won’t have spent the last twenty-eight days— _Not that I’ve been counting_ —oscillating between fragile acceptance and the overwhelming desire to call Sokka and beg him to come home. He’ll be whole, not this splintered person who was so desperate to see his ex that he jumped at the opportunity to pretend they hadn’t split.

Shit, he’s pathetic.

But Sokka asked him to be here. He’s spent the last day acting like everything is normal and he’s completely fine, and, well, maybe he is. He _was the one who was unhappy_. Zuko bites his lip. Maybe that isn’t entirely true. There had been a gnawing feeling at the back of his mind for a while before things had ended. He wishes he could figure out what it is, but it's still there, making him bite his tongue, remember that Sokka is better off now. He can’t make someone want something that they’re no longer interested in.

“Sorry about this morning,” Sokka says suddenly, and Zuko looks at him.

“What for?” Zuko asks.

Sokka turns his body in order to better fix Zuko with his patented “bitch, don’t even” expression. “My dick. Hanging out there in the open,” he uses his right hand to mime an appendage waving through the air. “I swear to God I’ll try to keep it in my pants tonight.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Zuko mutters.

“Right,” Sokka goes back to whittling, ears a little pink.

Zuko lets the silence stretch for a few more moments and watches Toph and Suki’s progress in the rowboat. They appear to only just be setting off from the far dock, and Toph is sprawled at the prow, flask in hand, while Suki tries to row ineffectually with only one paddle. They’re both laughing uproariously, too busy to either notice or care that the rowboat is listing dangerously to the side.

“When did they get together?” he asks, gesturing at them. Sokka glances up and grins affectionately at them.

“Maybe two weeks ago?” he hedges. “About fucking time.”

“I didn’t notice,” Zuko says.

“No,” Sokka runs a hand distractedly across the buzzed side of his head, “of course you didn’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zuko glowers.

“Nothing,” Sokka says quickly. “I didn’t mean anything by it. You haven’t been around, is all.”

“You didn’t want me to talk to you after,” Zuko points out. “'One month for every year we were together’, you said.”

“I didn’t want you to disappear, either,” Sokka says quietly. “Four months would have been a long time. I was worried.”

“Well, don’t be,” Zuko snaps. “If you’d really been concerned you could have called sooner.”

“You’re right,” Sokka says. “Sorry. I figured when you didn’t reach out that you wanted space.”

“Whatever, it’s fine,” Zuko crosses his arms. “I’m here now.”

“Yeah, you are.” Sokka shoots him a sidelong look. “Thank you. I know this sucks for you. Me, you know, being a wuss. I swear after the wedding I’ll tell everyone and you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“Make it really official,” Zuko says around the lump in his throat.

“Yeah,” Sokka agrees, and Zuko might be projecting, but he thinks he hears a quaver in the word.

“Sorry I was lying on top of you this morning,” Zuko says at length, figuring that if Sokka has apologized he should probably own some part of it as well. He’d done his part in making that more awkward than necessary.

“It’s fine,” Sokka says. “I would have woken you up if it had really bother—" he stops mid-word and clams up, digging more fiercely at the stick with the tip of his knife. It’s taking shape now, but Zuko has no idea what it’s supposed to be.

They lapse back into silence, listening to the sound of Toph’s whoops ringing out across the water.

Something occurs to Zuko as he watches Sokka flick away a strip of stubborn wood with the flat of the blade. “Speaking of gifts,” he thinks of the package tucked away in his suitcase. “I brought the one we picked out for them.”

“What?” Sokka straightens again. “The… oh.”

“It’s in my bag,” Zuko continues, “if you still want to give it to them.”

“Is that weird?” Sokka asks. “We picked it out when we were together. And, you know, it was expensive and I can’t afford to pay for half of it, and—"

“Sokka,” Zuko holds up a hand to shut him up. He isn’t sure how to put this without sounding like a rich asshole. “I know that you had to worry about money before me and I know that now, I mean… well, I don’t know what’s going on in your life now. But when we got together I wasn’t kidding about my money being your money. I won’t take that back. Anything we got together, anything I gave you, anything you feel like I owe you… it’s yours.” He can’t look at Sokka when he says it, has to concentrate on the shape of Toph and Suki gliding unsteadily across the water.

“Wow, that’s,” Sokka falters, “a lot. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Zuko says.

“I think that’s the most words I’ve ever heard you say all at once,” Sokka says, and when Zuko turns to look at him incredulously he sees that he’s grinning. Except that his face it tilted up oddly, his eyes a little wide. They shine brightly in the sun, and Zuko is horrified when he realizes that maybe that’s not normal wetness. He quickly averts his eyes.

The morning stretches on with Sokka whittling away at his stick with uncharacteristic quietness and Zuko eventually giving up and fishing his phone out of the big pocket of Sokka’s sweatshirt. He has a brief moment of madness where he wonders whether he could sneak the sweatshirt into Sokka’s laundry or trick him into wearing it, anything to freshen its waning Sokka-smell, but then dismisses those plans out of hand. He’s not _that_ pitiful and/or creepy. He hopes.

Eventually Sokka makes a small noise of satisfaction and holds the greatly-diminished stick up for inspection. Zuko stares at it, confused.

Sokka turns, sees Zuko looking, and hands over his carving with a flourish, “It’s a totem pole!”

“Really?” Zuko says dubiously. It might just be him being a perv, but he’s pretty sure…

“Or the world’s smallest wooden dildo,” Sokka pokes at it critically, finger warm against Zuko’s palm, and sighs. “Damn, I swear the round things on the bottom were supposed to be the bobcat’s front legs.”

“And the, uh, protuberance at the top?” Zuko asks.

“It just felt right,” Sokka shrugs, hefting the stick in his hand. “For, like, counterbalance. And apparently anatomical correctness.”

“Years from now archaeologists are going to find this and wonder what it was used for,” Zuko says seriously. “What do you honestly think their interpretation would be?”

“I hope they wouldn’t assume it was functional,” Sokka shudders and reclaims his artwork. “Splinters in terrible places.”

“And there’s no base on it,” Zuko makes a strangled sucking noise, “you’d never get it out again.”

“Oh my God,” Sokka looks at him with unbridled delight all over his face. “Please do that again.”

“No,” Zuko says definitively, and Sokka chuckles and drops the totem pole dildo to the ground.

“I’ll keep trying,” he says, looking at it a little sadly.

Zuko isn’t sure to what he’s referring: woodcarving or prompting Zuko to obscenely imitate the sound of a sex toy being lost to the ravages of someone’s lower intestine.

Deciding that it could be either, he knocks his elbow against Sokka’s as they stand. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Piyo's art blog](http://piyo13sdoodles.tumblr.com/) and [Piyo's personal](http://piyo-13.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [beersforqueers on tumblr](http://omgbeersforqueers.tumblr.com/)
> 
> COMMENTS!!!! Commentscommentscomments are my favorite thing (you can't see me right now, but I'm doing a little dance while singing that to myself). I write for you, Piyo draws for you, we love to hear from you!!!


	4. Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The winning comment from Piyo today was: "These two are a train wreck and it's fantastic"
> 
> On a more serious note: sorry it's been forever--life and stuff is happening. I know there are a lot of WIPs going on in my corner (and believe me, they're nothing compared to what's saved in my computer) but I'll do my best to get more on top of them soon!

The day does not begin auspiciously.

In fact, it begins with Zuko stumbling half-asleep out of bed and making a beeline for the bathroom. He has to pee so badly that it doesn’t matter that he hasn’t even opened his eyes yet: it’s like his body knows exactly where it needs to go to deal with the problem, and his still-unconscious brain is just along for the ride.

It isn’t until he’s done that it registers that the shower is running. He winces a little, his skin sympathetically itching for Sokka—their shower for the weekend sprays like a jet, and the night before he’d stumbled out of it, raw and shell-shocked, to general amusement from Sokka. It’s certainly loud enough that Sokka probably has no idea he’s even in here with him.

 _Fuck_. Zuko creeps over to the sink to wash his hands, then freezes with his wet hands halfway to the towel. He could have sworn…

His head swivels toward the shower curtain, which rustles. There it is again.

Sokka is _moaning_ , and it doesn’t take much in the way of brains to guess what he’s up to in there. Zuko takes hold of himself and scrambles for the towel.

“ _Zuko_ ,” Sokka groans, and then there’s a hitching gasp and the unmistakable sound of wet skin sliding together and then again, even louder, “ _Fuck, Zuko!_ ”

Zuko knocks the entire contents of the bathroom counter to the floor as he dives for the door, the bathmat slipping out from under him. He smacks his elbow on the cabinet and tips sideways _through_ the shower curtain.

“ _Shit!_ ” he yells, half tangled and flailing, trying desperately to roll out of the way. His ass is soaked, his head only saved by being wrapped in the curtain, and he thrusts a hand out to try to catch hold of anything solid. His palm meets something and curls around it instinctively, belatedly realizing that the something is warm and wet. “FUCK!”

“Zuko?!” Sokka sounds traumatized. Zuko looks wildly around and finds his hand wrapped around Sokka’s bare thigh. His eyes track left and—

“Oh my _God_!” he says, flinging himself out of the tub and onto the floor, rolling to his feet and throwing himself for the door.

“Zuko!” Sokka struggles after him, and they both stop dead in the bedroom, dripping water onto the wood floor. Sokka is red forehead to belly button and has torn the shower curtain from the rod on his way out, wrapping it around himself from the waist down. Zuko is soaked and bedraggled, still in his pajamas, frantically wishing he were anywhere but here.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize, I didn’t—"

“Hear anything, nothing was happening, I was just showering, it was—"

They both stop, wide eyes meeting then darting apart again.

“I didn’t hear anything, I didn’t mean to—" Zuko tries again, just as Sokka yelps, “It’s ok, you didn’t mean anything by—"

Sokka makes an odd abortive motion toward Zuko as if to comfort him, and the curtain slips.

“Oh my God.” Zuko holds a hand up to give Sokka some privacy as he grapples with it, and stares up toward the ceiling fan. It’s a very nice ceiling fan. He’s a fan of the maple finish. It goes well with the décor. Hakoda probably picked it.

Thinking about Hakoda doesn’t really help alleviate his feelings of utter humiliation.

Sokka lets loose a string of extremely flagrant curse words and books it back into the bathroom, reappearing a moment later with a towel slung low around his hips.

“I’m sorry I freaked out, I just wasn’t expecting…” he looks exactly as embarrassed as Zuko feels.

 _Good, at least we’re both suffering_.

“It’s ok, _I’m_ sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Right. It’s fine.”

“Yeah. It’s fine.”

And then, mustering up as much dignity as he possibly can, Zuko squelches out into the hallway to wait until Sokka finishes getting dressed.

If anyone asks what he’s doing dripping on the rug, he’ll say he needed to calm himself after an exceptionally wet dream.

  

* * *

 

 

Breakfast is exactly as stilted and awkward as he’d expect, and every time he and Sokka brush against one another he practically jumps out of his chair. By the time he’s knocked over the sugar bowl, the orange juice carton (thankfully capped), and sent a butter knife rocketing across the table, he’s started receiving questioning looks from everyone at the table. Except for Sokka, but only because Sokka’s resolutely avoiding eye contact.

“Lovers’ spat?” Gran-Gran mouths at him from across the table with a commiserating expression. He half-shrugs, as happy to circulate that explanation as any other, and quickly excuses himself to start clearing the table.

He’s almost done when his phone rings. He yanks it out of his back pocket and swears to himself. It’s a member of his company’s board.

“I have to take this, sorry,” he says, and everyone else waves at him, looking unperturbed. He wanders back toward the kitchen area before he picks up.

“Hello, Zuko here,” he says.

“Mr. Sugita,” John's voice crackles through the line, and Zuko grits his teeth.

“Zuko is fine,” he says, resisting the urge to sound like an asshole and spout the _Mr. Sugita is my father_ line.

“Zuko, the board has some concerns about the UN consultation,” he says, “and they would like for you to come in and give another presentation to clear up their questions.”

“The data-gathering is complete, the team was on the ground in Guatemala last year and—" Zuko keeps talking about the health survey the UN farmed out to their consulting firm while John makes vaguely affirmative noises on the other end of the line. Sokka is looking over at him with some concern, and Zuko has a swift and painful memory of the day he’d taken this job and how proud Sokka had been.

 _“I mean, it’s corporate, but it’s working with not-for-profits! You’re gonna be doing awesome stuff to_ help _people!”_

“Dave knows the particulars, he can give the presentation over again,” Zuko concludes.

"I just think it would be much better if you were here," John says stiffly, and Zuko sighs impatiently, and stalks out of the kitchen, not wanting everyone to hear him fight with his boss.

"I’ve had this on my calendar for months," he says once he's outside on the wide front porch. "I'm sorry that it has suddenly become inconvenient for you, but I won't be home for a few more days."

"Zuko—"

"John, I am sure that Dave is more than capable of assuaging the board’s fears. You approved his promotion for a reason." In point of fact, Zuko is pretty sure Dave is an idiot, but it isn't really his project and he doesn't give a shit how the board feels—the UN office was thrilled with their report.

"I just fail to understand what could be important enough—"

"My boyfriend's sister is getting married tomorrow, and I will be in attendance," Zuko snaps.

"Y-your what?"

"My boyfriend, John. If you need a visual to wrap your head around, my assistant would be delighted to let you into my office for photographic evidence," he says evenly.

"I wasn't—I just didn't know you had a boyfriend," John wheezes defensively, "my nephew is gay, it's quite—that is to say—it’s not an issue."

"I appreciate that, sir," Zuko says. "Will my vacation cause any more problems?"

"No, no, of course not. It's a family event, I understand." He sounds thoroughly chastened.

"Thank you. Have a good weekend," Zuko says, and hangs up. He doesn't even realize his hands are shaking until he drops his phone. He stands there staring at it for a moment where it's slid down the front stairs. When he reaches down to pick it up his knees go out from under him and he crumples down onto the top step, his head hanging between his knees.

 _You came out and no one died_ , he thinks to himself, and it's so nearly hysterical that he giggles.

There's a creak behind him, and he whips around. Sokka is standing frozen outside the screen door, his eyes wide and very blue. They stare at one another.

"Did you just—" Sokka gestures towards the fallen phone.

"How long have you been standing there?" Zuko asks.

"Since you started talking about Dave," Sokka says, then, reflexively, “Poor Dave.”

"Then you know exactly what I just have or haven't done," Zuko says, and lets out another shrill giggle. He claps a hand over his mouth, waiting for Sokka to laugh at him, but he just moves closer, still staring.

"That was a member of your board? Your boss?"

"Yup," Zuko says from behind his hand. "Turns out he has a gay nephew."

"Oh," Sokka drops down next to him and runs a hand over his face. "I can't believe you did that," he says, and his voice sounds thick and a little muffled.

"Are you..." Zuko reaches out and pries Sokka's hand away. Sokka lets him, blinking rapidly but staring resolutely straight ahead.

"Why?" Sokka asks, "After all this time."

"I promised I would be here for you this weekend," Zuko says simply. "He wanted me to come home. You're more important."

"I'm more—wow." Sokka huffs out a quiet laugh. "You're really something," he says quietly, bitterly, but he doesn't sound angry exactly, more like he's grappling with some huge emotion. Zuko can't even begin to guess what. Sokka has always been the feelings guy.

"Ok. Well." Zuko retrieves his phone and tucks it back into his pocket. "I'll just, um." He moves to stand up, but Sokka hooks a finger into the pocket of the now infamous McGill sweatshirt and tugs him back down. He bends awkwardly, half turned toward Sokka, staring down into Sokka's upturned face. He watches a kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions cross it, but when Sokka finally opens his mouth, he snaps it shut almost immediately and shakes his head.

"You should definitely keep the sweatshirt," he releases him and turns back to the front yard.

Zuko turns away, unsure why he feels so disappointed.

 

* * *

 

Guests start arriving that afternoon. Most of them are staying in Winnipeg, but Katara was firm on the rehearsal dinner even though Zuko has never understood what the hell they’re really for. At the very least, Aang fought for an informal gathering, and so the house is brim full of friends and relatives in jeans and t-shirts, laughing and chatting and bickering as they spill out onto the banks of the lake.

Sokka, who avoided Zuko all the rest of the morning and early afternoon, now has him firmly by the elbow and is steering him through the horde, introducing him to what feels like every single person there. Zuko is tired of shaking hands and making small talk, but he can feel how on-edge Sokka is, so he plays along. He doesn’t point out that introducing him as “my boyfriend” to an entire wedding’s worth of people will only make the announcement of their break up all the harder for Sokka.

Zuko is also in a better mood than he ordinarily would be. He keeps playing the morning over and over in his head, how he’d set John straight— _hahaha, straight_ , he giggles to himself—and told him the truth. He hopes that he’s gone ahead and told the whole board, hell, the whole _company_. _Guess what, Zuko Sugita is a giant fucking queer, and who even_ cares _?!_

“You’re surprisingly cheerful,” Sokka mutters out of the corner of his mouth after his Aunt Kimi releases Zuko from a vice-like hug and a heartfelt, “Welcome to the family, nephew.”

“Just enjoying meeting your family, darling,” Zuko grins and reaches up to pat Sokka on the cheek.

Sokka narrows his eyes at his suspiciously, but two more of his great-aunts have now gathered and are remarking over Zuko’s looks.

“I think he looks _rugged_ ,” the one on the left stage-whispers behind her hand, and the other laughs.

Zuko gamely pretends his scar isn’t the source of that comment and smiles in what he hopes is a winning fashion. Sokka rolls his eyes at him. Zuko shoots him a “what crawled up your ass and died?” look. Zuko is just doing exactly what Sokka asked him to do in the first place. Pretend to be the best goddamn boyfriend ever.

“Such a lovely boyfriend you have," the aunt on the right says as she pats Sokka on the arm, practically batting her lashes at Zuko.

“Thanks,” Sokka says gruffly.

“You’ve been absolutely inseparable this whole night!” the one on the left says. “I can see the passion there.”

Zuko looks at Sokka, who has a decidedly shifty expression on his face, like he might flee at any second. If “cranky and volatile” spells passion to this person, Zuko is a little concerned for her.

“Uh, yeah,” Zuko ad-libs, “Sokka is very, er, passionate.”

“Is that right, eh?” Left Aunt elbows the other and they grin mischievously at one another. Zuko has a terrible feeling about that smile.

“Not sure I believe you,” Right Aunt purses her lips, faux-thoughtful. “We might need a demonstration.”

“Ew,” Sokka groans at them, “crazy old bats.”

“Respect your elders!” Left Aunt bats at Sokka’s arm with her bag. “All we want is a kiss. It’s really just a preview for the next wedding, if Hakoda can be believed.”

“You want us to kiss for you?” Zuko asks blankly. This is bad. This is _not_ easy. This is the opposite of that, and his out-and-proud bubble has just burst.

“Unless you’re too shy,” Right Aunt pushes.

Zuko whimpers internally. Sokka cannot resist a challenge.

Sure enough, he uses his grip on Zuko’s arm to turn his body to face him, even though he’s glaring resolutely at his aunts.

“I’m not shy about loving Zuko,” he growls, and Zuko’s insides simultaneously shrivel and catch fire. This is going nowhere good.

“Prove it,” Right Aunt (who Zuko _hates_ ) cackles.

Zuko doesn’t have a lot of warning before Sokka grabs him by his upper arms and crushes their bodies together, Zuko’s hands pinned to Sokka’s chest between them. The angle is sort of funny and their noses bump, and Sokka’s eyes are scrunched determinedly shut, and it has been twenty-nine days since their last kiss and this is just a _lot_.

The aunts whoop gleefully, egging Sokka on, and he shifts so that their mouths fit together better—like they used to—and his hands ease up on Zuko’s arms, trace down to his waist. Zuko bows into him and his hands slide up to his shoulders, pulling him closer.

This is… awkward and a little weird and not that hot, but oh _God_ does it feel exactly right, anyway. Sokka feels so familiar, his body big and comforting as it curves protectively around him, shielding him from the aunts’ lascivious laughter.

He isn’t sure when the tone of the kiss changes, but at some point Sokka teases his lips open, slips his tongue into Zuko’s mouth, and Zuko moans in spite of himself. Sokka’s whole body seizes up, and then he’s kissing him _hungrily_ , frantic and hot and everything falls away. Sokka’s hands are hot and devastating, shoving up under the back of Zuko’s t-shirt to drag him even closer. The feeling of Sokka’s hands on him, on his _bare skin_ is drugging, heady, overwhelming.

“Oh my,” Left Aunt whispers.

Sokka jerks away but doesn’t let go of Zuko. For a few seconds they stay suspended, breathing heavily together, and then Sokka whips around to fix his aunts with a defiant look. “Good enough?” he asks, and they nod dazedly.

Left Aunt fans herself. “If that boy of yours ever yearns for a more worldly experience, give me a call,” she winks at him and wraps an arm around Right Aunt. “I think we both need a drink, eh?” Right Aunt nods weakly and allows herself to be carted away.

“What was—?” Zuko rounds on Sokka, still breathless, but Sokka is gone. For a second he can see his ponytail bobbing off through the crowd, but then it disappears.

Zuko goes off in search of alcohol.

 

* * *

 

Sokka doesn’t come back to their room that night. By the time the guests were leaving for the night Zuko was feeling pleasantly buzzed, and as he climbs out of the shower and drags himself into bed he presses his fingers to his lips. The kiss rattled him more than he’d like to admit, and considering that Sokka’d disappeared afterward, he didn’t know what the aftermath would be.

 _Too far_ , Zuko thinks glumly. _That was too far for both of us_. But wow, it hadn’t _felt_ like too much. It had felt like coming home. _Not for Sokka_ , he reminds himself. Yeah, Sokka had initiated it, but he clearly hadn’t been prepared for whatever it had made him feel. Repulsed? Angry? Hurt? Zuko has no idea. Sokka had been weird all day, and he had a right to be after that morning.

Zuko sits bolt upright in bed. That morning. In the events of the day, the morning had been temporarily eclipsed.

He lays down slowly, sinking into the mound of pillows on the bed. Sokka had been jerking off in the shower and saying _Zuko’s_ name.

 _He still wants me_ , Zuko realizes. _He doesn’t want to_ be _with me, but he_ wants _me._ He can’t decide if this is a small comfort or if it makes him feel even worse.

Regardless, it makes it hard to fall asleep that night.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Piyo's art blog](http://piyo13sdoodles.tumblr.com/) and [Piyo's personal](http://piyo-13.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [beersforqueers on tumblr](http://omgbeersforqueers.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments are the BEST thing in the world cause otherwise we're just screaming into the void and that gets tiring and then we're just hurting each other's ears and we have to go lie down.


	5. Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Piyo: "Listen, there are 39 comments, not because it wasn't good, but because it was TEN PAGES LONG."  
> Me: "I am unrepentant."  
> Piyo: "You're horrible. ilu <3"
> 
> *I may or may not be combining several conversations for the sake of the narrative. But I am indeed horrible.*

It’s Sunday morning, Zuko hasn’t seen Sokka since the evening before, and the service is about to start when Zuko gets the text.

 _Meet me in the bathroom rn_ pops up on his screen from “Sokka  <3”. Zuko texts back a _Wtf? Wedding about to start!_ that is met with radio silence. Their seats are way in the back, and no one would notice him slipping out, but it feels wrong. That being said, it's Katara’s wedding that Sokka's missing the start of, so it must be pretty damn important.

 _Fine, be right there,_ he finally sends, and shuffles out of the row and through the tent’s side flap. He has no idea what’s going on, but if Sokka needs him right this minute, he feels entitled to the anxiety starting to creep up on him.

"Sokka?" He slips into the bathroom, taking a second for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. They’ve hired one of those really fancy portable-bathroom-trailer-things so that no one has to schlep back to the house, and Zuko sees that there are actual stalls and a counter with a sink.

There's a rustling from the corner and Sokka reaches past him to lock the door. The click resonates in the silence.

"What's wrong?" Zuko asks confusedly. Sokka has backed away from him, and he looks distraught. His tie is askew, his jacket sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his eyes a little red around the edges.

"Shut up, Zuko," Sokka says, and Zuko snaps his mouth shut, feeling entirely wrong-footed. He goes to shift his weight a little, but then Sokka is seizing him by the tie and slamming him back into the door, which rattles alarmingly. Sokka is very close and the expression in his eyes is wild. "Why didn't you do it before?" he asks.

Zuko's brain tries to back up, to figure out what Sokka is talking about. The kiss? The—Oh.

"I didn't know how much it cost me to keep it a secret," he says quietly. "I didn't know how much it cost you. Us. Not until I lost you. I'm so sorry I couldn’t do it before." He closes his eyes; the look in Sokka's is too overwhelming to bear.

"But you did do it for me," Sokka whispers brokenly.

"It was for me too," he says. "It was selfish."

Sokka's hand clenches tighter around his tie and he half sobs, half laughs, "Good. I'm glad it wasn't for me." And then Sokka kisses him.

Zuko’s brain is short-circuiting and quite frankly he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on right now. But he's fully committed to rolling with it, because Sokka is dragging him closer and kissing him with an intensity bordering on ferocity. He's shaking, clinging to Zuko by the shoulders. Zuko cradles him gently, hands coming up to rest at his lower back. He doesn't know what he's allowed to do here, where this is coming from, what Sokka wants. The desperation in Sokka's lips is igniting something explosive inside of him, and when his hands tighten in Sokka's jacket, Sokka moans.

"Sokka," he gasps, head thumping back against the door, "wha—?"

"Just fucking kiss me," Sokka hisses, sinking his hands deep into Zuko’s hair.

“We can’t, we can’t, it’s a bad idea,” Zuko chants, not sure if he’s saying it out loud or not, but if he is the words are swallowed up by Sokka’s mouth moving against his. Sokka’s hands are at the hem of his shirt, yanking it out of his pants, fingers digging into his hips. They’re glued together, Sokka pulling their hips flush, hand sliding down the back of Zuko’s pants, fingers brushing the cleft of his ass.

Zuko feels drunk, off-kilter. Sokka is kissing the side of his neck feverishly and he feels teeth scrape over his shoulder where his collar and tie are shoved aside. He pants into the air, jackknifing away from the door when Sokka pulls Zuko’s dick free and gives it a long stroke. He can feel Sokka grin against his neck.

“Sokka, Sokka, Sokka,” he can’t form any words besides his name, even though there are so many ricocheting around the inside of his skull, _Why?_ and _What?_ and _Oh God, please, more, harder, yes_.

Sokka’s lips leave his neck and he’s sinking to his knees, dragging Zuko’s pants with him.

“What—what are you doing?” he stutters, hands falling to Sokka’s hair, tugging his head back to force him to look at him. The expression on Sokka’s face is still disconcerting, but much more open. He looks vulnerable, and Zuko feels sick, unsure what brought this on or whether he should be letting Sokka do this.

“We have to get back,” Sokka leans in and presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of his thigh. “Shut up so I can suck you off.”

“I can’t—"

“—go back with a raging hard on.” Sokka takes Zuko’s dick in hand and runs his tongue up the shaft and all the way over the head, staring at him coyly from under his lashes. He looks obscene. “Come on, Zuko,” he whispers, words vibrating against his cock. He looks frustrated now, like Zuko is the one being unreasonable. “You did a nice thing for me today. Shouldn’t you get something back?”

Zuko thinks about fighting more, about how shitty he’s probably going to feel about this later, but Sokka’s mouth is wrapping around his dick and he’s been thinking so much lately. He just really wants to get off, to white out for a couple of seconds, and it has now been a full 30 days of only self-imposed orgasms.

“Oh God,” he moans, and Sokka takes that as permission, sinking down farther and groaning around him. Sokka has always loved doing this, opening his throat and taking him all the way. Zuko doesn’t know where he learned to do this so well, probably from his slutty college phase— _No slut-shaming here, nope, it all paid off_ —but Zuko missed it, missed how Sokka takes him deeper than he’d previously thought physically possible.

Sokka pulls back, hand jacking at the base, tongue swirling around his head. His other hand coasts lower, pulling gently on Zuko’s balls, then pressing back, circling his hole. He goes still, trying to remember how to breathe, hand clenching hard in Sokka’s hair while he works on not facefucking Sokka, because he probably did not sign up for that today. Ok, yes, usually Sokka is _very_ into that, but now doesn’t feel like the time. They’re in a fucking glorified porta-potty.

Sokka’s finger presses, just a little, just enough for Zuko to open up, and it feels like Sokka is trying to suck his soul out his dick, and it’s so _much_. Zuko comes hard down the back of Sokka’s throat, hips snapping forward involuntarily, and Sokka swallows. Zuko pulls back, his dick dragging wetly down Sokka’s chin, Sokka’s tongue swiping across his lower lip like he wants it back.

Sokka wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and sits back on his heels. His mouth looks sloppy and swollen and _used_ , his eyes heavy-lidded even though they’re still red-rimmed. Zuko slides bonelessly down the door, yanking his pants up so that his legs can spread wide to either side of Sokka. He reaches out unthinkingly, hauling Sokka in by his collar so that he can press shaky kisses to his neck, the underside of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. He means it as a silent _Thank you_ , but Sokka stiffens before he can be kissed properly, and jerks away.

“Why?” Zuko finally asks. _Something nice_ doesn’t seem like enough to cover the current situation.

He stands up, and his face is suddenly closed off, his eyes shuttered. “You’re in the way of the door,” he says. His voice is monotone, giving nothing away. Zuko wobbles to his feet and Sokka brushes past him and out the door. It slams shut behind him.

Zuko doesn’t really remember sitting back down again, but suddenly his ass is on the floor and his head is between his knees and everything smells like Sokka.

 _You said this would be easy_ , he accuses his brain. _Yeah, but I didn’t actually_ believe _that_.

* * *

They make it back in time for the “I do”s (or the equivalent of them in Aang’s religion), Zuko sliding into the seat beside Sokka as sneakily as he can manage. Sokka doesn’t even look at him, and as soon as it’s time to draw up the walls of the tent and move the chairs aside to clear the dance floor, he bolts. Men from the tent company are setting up tables, and Gran Gran is aggressively directing a frightened team of caterers.

Zuko somehow ends up shunted aside near Toph, who looks him up and down. Well, she tries to, but ends up surveying the tent pole somewhere off to his left.

“Someone had a quickie in the bathroom,” she grins, and he chokes on his own tongue, sputtering out a “no, what do you mean, of course not” while she hoots with laughter. “I can just sense these things,” she says confidently.

“Are we talking about Sokka and Zuko sneaking off to fuck during the ceremony?” Suki somehow materializes to Zuko’s right, managing to pull off an airy tone despite the subject matter. Zuko wants to die. “I’m glad you guys had make-up sex, but way to time it.”

“It wasn’t…” Zuko tries, but Toph only laughs harder.

“Angry sex is good too!” she says, giving Zuko a hearty slap on the back that makes him double over. “Get all the angry sex out now, have make up sex later. Works for us,” she loops an arm around Suki’s waist. Suki doesn’t even have the good grace to look embarrassed; instead she shoots Zuko a frankly evil look and seizes him by the elbow.

“We’ll be back, babe,” she swoops down to kiss Toph and then pulls Zuko onto the dance floor. Aang and Katara had their first dance while Zuko had been expiring of embarrassment (“Wind Beneath My Wings” having now taken on even more traumatic undertones) and Suki shoves her way into the center of the crowd.

“I love Toph, but she cannot dance,” Suki says, and Zuko automatically rests a hand on her waist. His years of dance lessons weren’t wasted, Azula’s teasing notwithstanding. “And I figure we could probably do something to make Sokka at least a little bit jealous,” she says quietly, pressing her cheek to his.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Zuko says weakly, but Suki smacks him lightly on the shoulder.

“Of course it is,” she says smartly, “Sokka is a meathead at heart, he responds very well when you bait his masculinity.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Zuko says.

“It means that we’re gonna find you the hottest one of his cousins and attach her to you for the night,” Suki turns them so that he’s pointing back the way of the cousin table, “How do you like the one in the middle?”

“Suki, this is a terrible…” Sokka is over there chatting animatedly with some white dude. He’s very pretty and blonde, with a gold hoop through one ear lobe and nails painted a bright teal. As Zuko watches he reaches out and playfully pushes at Sokka’s shoulder. Sokka bounces back and leans even further into the guy’s space, and Zuko feels his stomach start to riot. “Never mind, I love this idea,” he says, and sees the girl Suki is talking about. Sure enough, she looks a lot like Sokka and is shooting him some very unsubtle looks. Clearly she has not received the “Sokka’s boyfriend” memo.

“Her name is Tari, she’s age appropriate, she’s probably not actually gonna try to blow you in the bathroom—“ _Well thank goodness for small favors_ , “—but her ex is here too, so she has lots of incentive to make this look good.”

“Her ex too, wait,” Zuko pulls back and sees Suki smirking at him. “Suki…?”

“I’m not dumb, but don’t worry,” she pulls him back in to finish the song, “I won’t make a fuss. I can see mutual pining from a mile away, believe me. Who do you think got Katara and Aang together?”

“Fair point,” Zuko concedes, and hugs her when the song is over. She takes his hand and drags him across the floor to where Tari is sitting. Tari smiles up at him and stands.

“Do you, uh,” Zuko gestures out to the dance floor, and, pretending to ignore the outraged expression that he’s _sure_ flashed across Sokka’s face before he turns back to Blonde-Dude, hauls her out onto the floor.

She turns out to be a very good dancer, as well as funny, smart, and completely in on Suki’s plan.

“You see Terrick over there?” she nods a little and they complete half a revolution so that Zuko can see a bulky dude looking warily in their direction, “That’s him.”

“He looks like he could beat me up,” Zuko whispers back.

“Oh no, not Ahmed, _Terrick_ ,” she jerks her chin, and Zuko sees a very small man sitting in the shadow of the man-mountain.

“Oh thank God,” Zuko whispers, relieved. “He looks miserable, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Good,” she sniffs. “Serves him right.”

“What happened?” Zuko asks, intrigued in spite of himself.

“He knows what he did,” she says cryptically, then rests her forehead against Zuko’s with a hurried, “Sokka’s looking, smile at me.”

Zuko, feeling completely out of his depth, manages a crooked half-smile that feels more like a rictus.

“Nice,” she smiles back, slow and sultry. “I like you, Zuko,” she spins out and then back in, sliding against his body in a way that makes him sure he _should_ be blushing, “it’s really too bad you’re gay for my cousin.”

“And gay in general,” Zuko grins genuinely this time, and she laughs. It’s a nice sound, tinkling and bright, and Zuko sees Sokka glaring at her from over her shoulder. He buries his smile in her shoulder and combs his fingers through the long silky strands of her hair.

“Does he know that?” she asks. “This is a lot less convincing if he knows you only like dudes.”

“I’ve dated women,” Zuko shrugs.

“Fair enough,” she slides a hand around his waist, palm skimming down toward his ass. “Oh damn, we’ve done it now,” she giggles, and Zuko twists just enough to see Sokka stomping off toward the tent flap.

 _Serves you right for blowing me in the bathroom and then flirting with another guy,_ Zuko thinks vindictively. Never before has he felt that dumb saying about love and war as acutely as he does now. _And we’re broken up anyway_ , he thinks stubbornly, _he has no right to care if I sleep with_ all _the wedding guests_. Ok, maybe not Katara or Aang. They wore fucking fanny packs.

 _Oh shit_ , the blonde dude is making for the tent flap too. He seems to be heading off in the same direction Sokka’s gone.

It feels like he’s swallowed something disgusting and slimy, something that was making its way heavily into the pit of his stomach, sending tendrils out into his blood vessels. They’re creeping up to constrict his heart, his lungs, and before he knows what’s happening, Tari is ushering him off the dance floor and shoving a glass of champagne into his hand.

“It’s been fun,” she smiles at him comfortingly, “but I’m off to make out with my ex.” She turns and somehow produces Suki out of thin air, “Good luck Zuko! You got this.” She winks enormously at him and takes off.

“How do women do that?” Zuko asks, baffled, and drains his entire champagne flute.

“Do what?” Suki asks, plopping down and kicking her shoes off to rub at her feet.

“All of it,” Zuko mutters.

“Can’t say,” Suki shoves her feet into his lap and looks at them pointedly. He digs a thumb into the pad of her heel and she moans pornographically in response.

“Haven’t heard that in a while,” Sokka is back, sliding into a seat next to Suki. Zuko’s gaze darts up and then away, and he sees Blonde Guy, looking distinctly put out, slip back into the tent. Suddenly his heart is soaring.

“I noticed that Tari and Terrick are back at it again,” Sokka says smoothly, and shoots Zuko a scathing look.

“I see that _someone_ didn’t get his dick sucked tonight,” Zuko says back, and Suki whistles, low and impressed.

“Shots fired,” she says. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Zuko. Up top,” she high fives him.

“Are you _really_ taking his side?” Sokka looks appalled.

“Ex solidarity,” Suki explains.

“You _told_ her?” Sokka’s mouth drops open.

“ _She_ guessed because _she_ isn’t a complete dumbfuck,” Suki says pointedly. “I’m not gonna tell anyone else. But you two need to work your shit out because the hormonal cocktail of sexual tension and emotional constipation you two are toting around is making me regress to puberty.” She removes her feet from Zuko’s lap and pulls her shoes back on. “Ooo!” she tugs Zuko up by the hand. “Time to catch the bouquet!”

Zuko, feeling like a complete ass, joins the throng of women standing behind Katara, who lobs her posy of snapdragons over her shoulder and then spins around to see where it lands. Zuko, holding his hands out to argue with Suki about the advisability of this endeavor, is extremely confused to suddenly be in possession of a handful of flowers.

“Umm…” he stares at the bouquet as everyone around him starts clapping.

Gran Gran looks delighted.

Sokka looks sullen.

Suki looks smug.

Zuko hates everyone.

“This is _not_ mine,” he tries to say, but all the women around him are already dispersing, congratulating him on his impending nuptials. All he wants is to wail, _I’m not even dating anyone!_ But that would blow their cover for sure.

As if tonight wasn’t already a massive clusterfuck.

“Presents!” Hakoda calls over the din, and apparently the wedding is just small enough that someone had the brilliant idea to make Katara and Aang sit at the high table and have guests line up to hand over gifts.

Zuko snags two more glasses of champagne, downs them in quick succession, and goes to track down Sokka and their gift.

He locates them both in the corner with a bottle of bourbon.

“Listen.” He picks up the package and eyes the bottle distastefully. “Play nice for the next day and then you don’t have to see me ever again.” Getting the words out is hard, but it feels important to say it. “You gave me one last blowjob, great, whatever, you got me all out of your system, I _get it_. I’m not gonna hold it against you. But it’s your sister’s wedding and as far as everyone knows, we’re still together, so at least _pretend_ to pretend.” He turns and joins the line, not even bothering to see if Sokka is following.

When he reaches the head of the line, though, Sokka is there behind him, a reassuring presence even if he’s heading more into hulking-storm-cloud territory at the moment.

Katara and Aang look too flushed with champagne and newlywed bliss to notice, thankfully.

“Congratulations,” Zuko says sincerely, handing over their gift.

“Thank you so much!” Katara glows at him. “I’m so happy you caught the bouquet, Zuko, you know you’re pretty much already a member of the family, and dad and Gran Gran just _love_  you, we can’t wait to make it permanent—"

“Don’t you want to open the present?” Aang is practically bouncing in his seat. It is very obvious that _he_ wants to open the present.

“Oh, right, sweetie, do you want to?” she asks sweetly.

“No, you should do it!” he simpers back.

“Don’t be silly, if you want to, _you_ should!”

“Do you want _me_ to?” Sokka grits out, and Katara looks at him reproachfully.

Aang gleefully tears the paper away and his eyes go giant.

“Oh…wow,” he whispers.

It’s a framed map. A giant, colorful artist rendering of Chicago, with little multicolored flags pinned all over it and tiny footprints tracing routes back and forth between the locations.

“It’s…” Katara seems at a loss, “it’s us!” She stares up at Sokka and Zuko, and her eyes are full of tears. “Look!” she touches a finger reverently to one of the flags, “where Sokka used to bar tend! Where Sokka and I met Zuko! And the University where I met Suki,” she traces the path between the two, “and the coffee shop where you first gave me your number, and that stupid hipster food co-op where you used to work,” she smiles at Aang, “and the boxing gym where Sokka and Toph used to hang out together…” she’s really crying now, but smiling all the same. “It’s amazing!” She thrusts it into Aang’s shell-shocked arms and throws herself across the table to hug them both at once. “Just do me a favor,” she says when she pulls back, “and don’t get married too soon. I need lots of time to think up something this amazing for you guys.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sokka says awkwardly, “it was Zuko’s idea.”

“It was both of us,” Zuko says firmly. And then, as he starts to tow Sokka away, “Congrats again, Katara. I’ve loved having you in my family too.” She doesn’t seem to notice the past tense, but it feels like a proper goodbye to Zuko.

If this is the end, he should do it right, after all.

“She’s still your family,” Sokka protests, grabbing his bourbon bottle off the table as they pass it and taking a good swig.

“Hate to break it to you, but she probably won’t take our break up that well,” Zuko says.

“Whatever,” Sokka says mulishly. “You’re not gonna give up on them.”

Zuko shrugs. He didn’t really see them the entire time between the break up and this weekend. At the end of the day, no matter when they’d all met, they’d always felt like they all belonged to Sokka.

But maybe not… Zuko looks back toward Suki and Toph, now making out enthusiastically in a corner, and at Katara and Aang, so happy and excited about their life together. Maybe he could keep them even if he lost Sokka.

Maybe they’d want him to keep them.

“I guess not,” he says quietly.

“I know what you were doing earlier,” Sokka drops the bottle and pulls Zuko sideways, out of the tent again and into the dark.

“Oh yeah? What was that?” Zuko glares up at him.

“Make me jealous,” Sokka says angrily. He smells like bourbon and wedding cake and something else—that guy’s cologne?

“How is that any different from you coming out here to make out with that blonde asshole?” Zuko hisses.

“You have no idea,” Sokka spits back. “No idea what this weekend has been like for me.”

Zuko scoffs, “You’ve been fucking _fine_. Business as usual as far as _Sokka_ is concerned.”

“How can you even say that?” Sokka jabs him in the chest, pushing him up against the edge of the tent. Zuko feels a tent pole dig painfully into the space between his shoulder blades. “Do you know how bad it hurts to look at you? How much I want to touch you? How much I wanted to murder my own cousin in there for dancing with you?”

“Sokka,” Zuko shakes his head, horrified by this and by how giddy it’s making him, “stop it. You don’t mean that. You’re drunk. You’re better off without—"

“Don’t tell me what I am!” Sokka snaps. “You, making decisions for _us._ That was always the whole goddamn problem, wasn’t it? You don’t make decisions for me anymore, Zuko!”

“You made it pretty clear what you wanted, Sokka,” Zuko says coldly.

“Yeah?” Sokka crowds him further against the metal strut. “What if,” he dips his head down to breathe into Zuko’s ear. His eyes close and he shivers. “What if what I want is _you_ , Zuko?” he bites at Zuko’s earlobe, licks down the side of his neck. He’s hot and overwhelming, and Zuko feels trapped and helpless and he wants to give in but this isn’t right. Nothing about today has gone according to plan.

“Wanting me,” Zuko says evenly, and shoves Sokka away forcefully. He looks shocked, but goes without too much resistance, “isn’t the same as wanting to _be_ with me. And we both know how you feel about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMMENTS! KUDOS! KITTENS! RAINBOWS! LESBIANS WHO LOOK LIKE JUSTIN BEIBER! (all things that I enjoy)
> 
> I can't speak for Piyo on the above, but she does seem to like me, and I am a gay who looks like Justin Beiber. But with more facial piercings. [[Piyo would just like to pop in and concur with the above]]
> 
> That being said, I suspect she's in it for the porn ;-)
> 
> SO fancy, Piyo has, like, MULTIPLE blogs:  
> [Piyo's art blog](http://piyo13sdoodles.tumblr.com/) and [Piyo's personal](http://piyo-13.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I am a mess, but have mine while we're at it:  
> [beersforqueers on tumblr](http://omgbeersforqueers.tumblr.com/)


	6. Monday: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Piyo's final comment for this chapter: "Why did I sign up to beta this? This is PAINFUL. Readers are gonna hate you."
> 
> Me: >:)) "I can't wait"

When Zuko peels himself out of bed the next morning, everything feels grimy and a little unclear. His mouth is gritty and mossy, and his limbs feel very heavy. He thinks maybe _he_ ended up making out with the blond guy at some point? He isn’t really sure.

He climbs out of bed and stumbles into the bathroom, wincing a little at the morning light, although it’s dreary and grey outside. Rain spatters the windows and drums on the roof above him. This is not the worst hangover he’s ever had, not by a long shot, but there’s still a little bit of a throbbing in his temples, and a growl of thunder overhead doesn’t help any.

He brushes his teeth, washes down a few painkillers, and goes to get dressed. The stairs seem like an insurmountable obstacle, and he takes them slowly, his pre-coffee brain still fuzzy.

He doesn’t immediately notice that the kitchen is quiet when he enters it. There are pancakes stacked next to the range, and even though he doesn’t like them, they seem like the right thing for the moment. He fills a plate, pours himself a mug of coffee, and sits down at the table.

He’s two bites in before he really thinks to look up and say good morning.

When he does, he freezes.

Katara and Aang are long gone, off on their honeymoon already, but Gran Gran and Hakoda, are sitting across from him, while an uncomfortable-looking Toph and an obviously irate Sokka book end the table. Suki is sitting in the armchair in the corner, looking partially amused and partially concerned.

“What’s up?” Zuko swallows his bite of pancake and slowly raises another to his mouth. _Maybe if I act like nothing is wrong, everyone will just go away_.

“I told them,” Sokka whispers. “It was better than letting Gran Gran bite both of our heads off.”

“Blond guy?” Zuko grimaces, brain moving slowly. It isn’t quite clicking into place yet that if Gran Gran knows, then Hakoda… he chomps down on another bite of breakfast and tries not to look at Hakoda. He fails. Hakoda isn’t looking at him, though, instead looking at Sokka with an angry expression.

“He’s mad I lied to him,” Sokka says quietly, seeing where Zuko is looking.

“I mean, I also…” Zuko sets his fork down, feeling queasy.

“We all know whose idea this was,” Hakoda rumbles. Sokka shrinks back into his chair a little.

“I still agreed to it,” Zuko whispers.

Gran Gran stands abruptly and comes around the table to stand over Zuko. He looks up at her, terrified, unsure what she’s about to do, but instead she grabs him around the shoulders and yanks him into her.

“You’re still my grandson,” she says roughly, then marches out of the kitchen.

“She’s _really_ pissed at Sokka,” Toph says helpfully.

“You broke her heart,” Hakoda shrugs sarcastically. “She’s been waiting for you two to get married for years now. I suppose…” He pushes his coffee cup away, “Well, we all were. I don’t know how Katara is going to take this. It took her so long to warm up to you, Zuko.”

“I know,” Zuko says sadly. “I hope she’ll still want to see me.”

“Of course she will,” Hakoda says. “Now this one,” he rounds on Sokka, “I’m not so sure about.”

“Oh, _fuck off_!”

Zuko jumps, sending bits of pancake flying. He’s never heard Sokka yell like that, so angry and out of control, and when he whips around to look at him, Sokka has shoved himself back from the table and throws them all a horrible look before running from the kitchen.

“Sokka!” Zuko is out of his chair before he can stop to consider whether or not this is the smartest course of action. He races after Sokka, up the stairs and into their room.

Sokka is standing next to the chair in the corner, rifling through his bag.

“What are you doing?” Zuko asks, bewildered and scared.

“Looking for _this_.” Sokka spins around and brandishes a small box at him. “Don’t you ever _think_ , Zuko? Don’t you ever consider how I feel? What I think? What I plan?”

“Of course I do! Of course I did!” Zuko advances, eyes fixed on the box, not sure he wants to know what’s inside it. “We talked about it, our future, what we wanted, what we’d planned for.”

“Well, my plans didn’t just change because we hit a rough patch,” Sokka yells, throwing the box at him. “You’re an _idiot!_ ” And then he’s back down the stairs.

Zuko hears the front door slam shut, and, feeling like a jackass, he chases after him again, the box clenched in his fist.

He punches through the door, sending it ricocheting back against the side of the house, and follows Sokka outside. The rain is still pouring, and he yanks his hood up, shoving his hands—and the box—deep into his pockets. Sokka is standing in the middle of the driveway, not going anywhere, just breathing deeply like he’s trying to calm down.

Zuko stops a few feet away, unsure what to do.

“They’re all blaming _me_ , Zuko,” Sokka says, not turning around. His ponytail is drooping sadly in the rain and the shoulders of his shirt are already sticking to his skin. “You realize how ridiculous that is, right?”

“You didn’t tell them?” Zuko asks incredulously. “You didn’t tell them how we broke up? Why not?”

“They love you,” Sokka spits viciously. “Why let you break their hearts, too? Mine wasn’t enough for you?”

“Sokka—" Zuko reaches out to him, and has a sudden sense of déjà vu.

 

 

_“You’re taking Mai to your fundraiser?” Sokka looks up from the couch, the tension in him only belied by the way the paper in his hands crinkles as his fingers tighten on it._

_“Yeah, you know, they think she’s my… I don’t know,” Zuko says, uncomfortable. He’s never told any of them that Mai is his girlfriend, but he thinks they assume it._

_“Lady friend?” Sokka pointedly goes back to reading his paper. “She_ was _after all. Not too crazy an assumption.”_

_“That was years ago,” Zuko shifts a little, still holding the fundraiser invitation in his hands. It’s addressed to him and Mai. He isn’t sure why that is, but doesn’t want to examine it too closely._

_“I know,” Sokka says, but his eyes over the top of the paper are sharp._

 

_Zuko is getting ready for the fundraiser and Mai is waiting impassively by the door. She smooths her hands across his shoulders, straightens his bow tie, and pronounces his tux serviceable._

_“I’ll get him back to you before you know it, Sokka,” she calls over to him. Sokka is sitting with his back to them, fiddling with one of his little metal puzzles._

_“I can hardly wait,” he says flatly._

_Zuko’s heart sinks. Him taking Mai to benefits has always been a point of contention with Sokka. While Zuko insists that they’re long and boring and Sokka would hate them, Sokka loves dressing up and going out places, and he insists that he’d be fine._

_But… Sokka is just his. A safe space away from the confines of his corporate job, someone wild and daring and brilliant and eccentric, who makes him feel warm and spontaneous. Trying to shove that concept of Sokka into a tuxedo and force it to dance for the board feels wrong somehow._

_And Sokka is a man. For better or for worse, Zuko has no idea how his bosses would take that._

_He ushers Mai out the front door._

 

_“So how was it?” Sokka asks. Zuko jumps—it’s two in the morning and all the lights are out. Sokka is sitting in the dark in the same armchair they left him in._

_“It was awful, actually,” Zuko sighs. “It would have been much more fun if you’d been there.”_

_Sokka snorts, “Don’t say shit like that.”_

_“What do you mean?” Zuko asks, toeing off his shoes and pulling his arms out of his jacket. He yanks at his tie impatiently so that he can undo the first few buttons of his shirt, and wanders around the edge of Sokka’s chair to perch on the arm. Sokka’s hair is down at the moment, tumbling almost to his chin, and he reaches out to comb his fingers through the strands._

_Sokka jerks away._

_.._

_.._

_“What’s wrong?” Zuko plays dumb, hoping Sokka is going to brush it off so that they can climb into bed and save this for another day._

_"What do you tell them at work? That I'm your roommate? Your adopted kid brother? Too ashamed to just tell the truth?” Sokka glares up at him._

_Zuko’s throat constricts, and he has to force his answer out. He isn’t even sure what he’s feeling right now, maybe a little bit defensive, a little hurt, a little ashamed of himself._ " _I tell them you're my best friend, Sokka! What else do you want from me? It's the truth, isn't it?!_ _” he finally says._

_“Is it, Zuko? You don't even want to be seen with me. A best friend isn't supposed to be treated like your dirty little secret!” Sokka jumps up out of his chair and starts pacing in front of Zuko, who clings to the fact that they’ve had this conversation before._

_“You signed on for this!” he points out. Sokka has_ always _known that Zuko isn’t out at work. It wasn’t until he got promoted to this new job that he ever had his personal life under a microscope._

 _Sokka is shaking his head at him, though._ _“I signed on for_ you _, not for_ this. _”_

_“You don’t want this?” Zuko gestures between the two of them, horrified. Where is this even coming from?_

“ _Do_ you _even want this?” Sokka throws back at him._

“ _Of course I do! That’s not fair!” Zuko yells, knowing now where this is coming from. He knew they hadn’t been doing great lately, and he_ knew _it was his fault._

“ _What about what’s fair to_ me _? Do you care about that?” Sokka shouts, hands splayed out on his own chest._

“ _What kind of question is that? You’re the most important person in my life!” Zuko says, appalled by what Sokka is implying._

“ _It doesn’t feel that way to me_.”

_“If you aren’t happy, we can—I mean—there has to be something—" Zuko says._

_“You know exactly what needs to happen, you’re just too chicken shit for that!” Sokka says._

_“You know I can’t—you know—“_

_“Neither of us knows shit! You haven’t even tried! You’d rather they think you’re fucking Mai than just be_ seen _with me, even just as your best friend,” Sokka says._

_“Sokka, that’s not how it is,” Zuko says, but deep down he knows Sokka is right. And Sokka doesn’t deserve that._

_“That’s exactly how it is,” Sokka says, looking defeated. He drops onto the couch, face in his hands._

_Zuko casts around for what to do next. The clock chimes 2:30 AM._

“ _Come to bed_ , _” he tries._

“ _No_.”

“ _Please, Sokka_.”

“ _I said no_.”

“ _Fine. Fine,” Zuko throws up his hands and undoes his cummerbund. “Sleep out here, be miserable. I don’t even care_.”

“ _Yeah, I’m well aware,” Sokka says bitterly._

 _“You think I don’t care about you?” Zuko stops dead. “You know I care about you. I’ve built a life with you, Sokka, we have an apartment, a cat, a, a, a fucking—” he casts about for something illustrative, “—_ retirement fund _, for God’s sake!”_

_“That’s not what being together is about,” Sokka says._

_“That’s what I know how to do,” Zuko says softly. “I’m not the feelings one.”_

_“Yeah, I’m well aware,” Sokka says, tiredly this time._

_“That doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” Zuko says. “We balance each other out, right?”_

_“Yeah, we do,” Sokka says. “We’re so good together. I don’t get why you wouldn’t want the world to see that.”_

_“Because our relationship isn’t about the world, it’s about us,” Zuko points out._

_“I’m not as private as you, Zuko,” Sokka says. “I like being out. I like marching in the parade and holding your hand in public and kissing you goodbye when I walk you to work. I want to meet your work friends and go to your stupid boring parties. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t want me to be with all of them,” Sokka says, his voice shaky._

_“Oh,” Zuko says, reeling back. He glances off the doorframe and reaches out, grabbing onto the wall for support. “Okay then,” he fumbles with the buttons of his shirt. “I can take the couch tonight. I can, I don’t know… what do you? What do you want me to do next?”_

_“What do you mean?” Sokka looks confused, staring at Zuko like he’s grown an extra head._

_“You can’t be with me,” Zuko says numbly. “So I’m assuming you want to, well, I don’t know. Do you want the apartment?” Zuko looks wildly over his shoulder into their bedroom. Their clothes are spilling out of their closet, really only meant for one person’s belongings, and the sight makes him remember all the times Sokka had laughed that they needed to upgrade to a walk-in._

_“Are you…?” Sokka’s face is ghostly white in the darkness. “Are you breaking up with me?” he says hoarsely._

_Zuko’s mouth opens and shuts a few times, and then he nods. He’s trying to convince himself this is the right thing to do, even though it feels like every cell in his body is trying to tear him apart from the inside out. All he wants is to run over to Sokka and apologize, to throw himself into Sokka's arms and promise a bunch of things he doesn’t really mean. But he isn’t that brave._

_And Sokka deserves better._

_He clears his throat, willing his voice not to waver, “Yes. This is me. Breaking up with you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the hate mail:
> 
> [Piyo's art blog](http://piyo13sdoodles.tumblr.com/) and [Piyo's personal](http://piyo-13.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [beersforqueers on tumblr](http://omgbeersforqueers.tumblr.com/)


	7. Monday: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!!! the emotional climax !!!!!! the otherwise kind of climax !!!!!!!! everything is coming together !!!!!!! everyONE isn't coming together, but they're coming sequentially !!!!!!
> 
> Piyo is shaking her head right now, like, "who the fuck is this crazy asshole I have chosen to spend time with?"
> 
> As per usual, select commentary from Piyo's beta notes:
> 
> "Boi u dun fucked up"
> 
> "It suddenly occurs to me I'm reading this in a public library…"
> 
> And in reply to my "Is this too much? Like, TOO melodramatic? I CAN’T HELP IT I WANTED MELODRAMA", the very sage, "...the entire like, plot of this fic was us shouting tropes back and forth and trying to see if we could somehow connect all of them. I'd be more concerned if this weren't melodramatic as fuck tbh"

Staring at Sokka in the rain, Zuko tries to regroup, but he can’t breathe, hit afresh with the panic of that night.

“You think that was easy for me?” Zuko rasps. He can’t _believe_ this. “You think I _wanted_ this?”

“Why the fuck else would you do it?” Sokka yells. “Why the _fuck_ else would you break up with me?”

“Because you deserve better than me, Sokka!” Zuko screams back. The words are torn from him almost against his will. “You didn’t deserve some closet-case fuck up who couldn’t give you what you want, and you made it pretty clear that you didn’t want what I could offer. _You didn’t want to be with me_.”

“How can you say that?” Sokka sounds so small, voice low and horribly bitter, “You’re _everything_ I’ve ever wanted.”

“Bullshit!” Zuko is trying to hold onto the thread of his anger, because it’s all that’s tethering him to this fucking conversation. “You said that you couldn’t be with someone who was closeted. And I was fucking _closeted._ It doesn’t take a fucking,” he waves a hand at Sokka, “genius engineering PhD drop-out to put two and two together. I broke up with you before you could leave _me_. Isn’t that easier for you in the long run? Didn’t I just save you the fucking trouble of doing something you wanted to do anyway?”

“Are you that _stupid_?” Sokka advances, voice still quietly acerbic. “ _Open the_ _fucking box, Zuko_.”

“What?” Zuko drops his voice and reaches into his pocket, blindsided enough to actually comply automatically.

“Ask me if that’s something that would indicate an imminent break up _, Zuko_ ,” Sokka hisses, and he reaches into Zuko’s pocket himself, nails catching on Zuko’s hand as he savagely yanks at the pouch.

He shoves it at Zuko. He catches it in his palms, staring down at it with a feeling of trepidation.

He doesn’t want to know what’s in here.

He cracks it open anyway.

Nestled in a plush black velvet cushion are two thin metal bands, one hammered silver, the other gold. Zuko gazes at them uncomprehendingly for a moment, then hooks one out with his index finger, dimly realizing that he’s bleeding from the scratch on his hand.

The inside of the band is engraved with the words _We have the answer_ and the date of their first anniversary.

His throat is so tight he’s not sure how a sob even makes it out.

“From that Bradbury quote on my pocket knife,” Sokka says.

Zuko nods, bottom lip between his teeth, incapable of meeting Sokka’s eyes.

“I would have said yes,” he whispers. He slips it onto his left ring finger, just to see, to try it, to know how it feels. It fits perfectly.

“ _Don't_ ,” Sokka snatches at his hand, holding it deathly tight.

“What?” Zuko asks, wide-eyed with surprise.

“Don’t fucking wear it unless you mean it,” Sokka whispers.

“I—,” Zuko doesn’t even know what to say to that. His brain is in overdrive. “All of the reasons—" he tries, clears his throat, tries again, because his voice it shaking so badly, “all of the reasons we broke up—that I broke up with you, thinking you wanted me to… they’re all _gone_. I’ve been _miserable_ , Sokka. I’ve been so fucking _pathetic_ the entire time you’ve been gone. I think about it every day. Every second of every day. But…” He grabs hold of Sokka’s hand covering his. The ring case snaps shut when it hits the ground. “I’m out. Everyone knows. I want to be able to hold hands with you, Sokka, I’ve _always_ wanted to. I was just scared. I was so fucking scared, and I’m sorry, and I don’t deserve this, I’ve never deserved you,” Zuko is dimly aware that he’s babbling. “But I want to. I want to deserve you. More than anything.”

“You idiot,” Sokka grabs him roughly by the back of the neck, jerks him in close so that they’re forehead to forehead, breathing raggedly in one another’s space. “You fucking idiot. _I_ don’t deserve _you_. You’re the one who’s got his shit together. You’re a damn _adult_ ; I’m absurd compared to you. I don’t know why you wanted me in the first place—I knew how I looked next to you. I was scared, too.”

“That’s not true,” Zuko shakes his head vehemently. “We’re both idiots. We deserve each other. We’d make the dumbest babies on the planet.”

“Or the smartest,” Sokka half-smiles. “We have four and a half degrees between the two of us.”

“Maybe,” Zuko takes a deep breath, lets it out, lets himself settle. “Maybe this was good. The time apart. I mean, if this is—if you mean—"

Sokka presses closer, if that were even possible. “Do you—? If that’s what you want? I’ll be better this time—I’m going back to school, I’m gonna finish my PhD, I’m gonna get a real job. I kept thinking that maybe if you saw me get my life together, if I actually followed through on one goddamn thing in my life, you might want me back. I was going to tell you this weekend. I thought maybe if you were proud of me for once you might let me, you know, be your boyfriend in public. Even if that’s a fucked up reason to do something.”

“I came out for you,” Zuko lets out that stupid hysterical giggle again. “I’m always proud of you. I want this again.”

“Thank God,” Sokka breathes, and kisses him.

It’s like exhaling, easy and relaxing and the tension whooshes out of Zuko as Sokka kisses him slow and easy, mouth opening gently, tongue soft against his. Sokka’s other hand slides up his arm, cups his bicep, travels down his back to tug him in by the waist. He goes loose against the solid wall of Sokka’s body, lets himself be held. It’s been too long.

He bes gradually aware of the fact that he’s soaked, and that Sokka’s cold, wet hand inside the hood of his (ok, Sokka’s) hoodie is making him shiver even harder.

“Should we…” he breaks away but doesn’t go far, unwilling to put any distance between then.

“C’mon,” Sokka grabs Zuko’s hand, and, stooping to grab the ring box off the driveway, drags him toward his own run-down pickup truck. It’s parked a little ways from the driveway, off in a stand of trees, and although Sokka hasn’t driven it since he lived at home, it looks well taken care of.

 _Why am I inspecting Sokka’s old car right now?_ Half of his brain tells him it’s because wildlife nesting inside of it is a real threat, and the rest of his brain tells that part to shut the fuck up.

“I don’t really wanna go back in the house yet,” Sokka explains, and hauls the creaky door open. He scoots into the backseat and pulls Zuko in after him, reaching across him to slam the door shut. It still isn’t warm inside, but it’s mercifully dry.

Zuko shucks the sweatshirt immediately, kicks off his sodden shoes and socks, and hesitates briefly before unbuttoning his pants, too, because at least his boxers are still dry.

It takes him a moment to realize that Sokka is sitting immobile next to him, watching him strip with a hungry expression on his face.

“Um,” Zuko licks his lips and opens his mouth to speak, but then Sokka is _on him_ , pinning him helplessly to the seat. His hand rucks up the front of his t-shirt, nails digging into his abs, clenched taut under Sokka’s palm as Zuko feels himself going hard. The rush of blood from his head makes him feel dizzy, or maybe (probably) that’s just from the feeling of Sokka’s teeth at his collarbone once he yanks his collar out of the way.

Sokka’s mouth is hot as he places wet, open-mouth kisses down Zuko’s chest, shirt bunched up under his arms, fingers pulling at the waistband of Zuko’s underwear. He doesn’t pull them off though, just cups Zuko through them, only enough pressure to get Zuko’s cock weeping through the cloth, his hips jerking up desperately.

“Sokka,” he whines, embarrassed by how needy he sounds. Sokka’s mouth stills against his left nipple. “Please, c’mon, don’t…”

“Don’t?” Sokka retreats, holds his hands up innocently. He’s kneeling over Zuko, one knee planted to either side of Zuko’s thighs, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. He looks like sex personified to Zuko, who bites his lip and wriggles against him.

“Don’t stop, I mean,” he mumbles, feeling ridiculous. He’s so easy for Sokka, always has been. He reaches up, tugging at the hem of Sokka’s wet shirt. Sokka helps him, flings it into the front seat, swings a leg over Zuko’s to shimmy out of his jeans. His cock strains against the fabric of his boxer briefs, the head of it poking out of the top when he readjusts himself. His hand on his own cock makes him moan, and he lingers there, watching Zuko watch him.

Zuko’s mouth is watering, and he leans up on his elbows to mouth at him, tongue dragging across the slit at the tip. Sokka’s head falls back, and he grabs the back of the seat to steady himself.

“Can I fuck you?” he breathes, thighs trembling. Zuko hopes it’s with the effort not to fuck into his mouth as he pulls the waistband of Sokka’s underwear down under his balls and gets his mouth around just the head. He wouldn’t mind it if Sokka did, but there’s something really hot about him trying to be good for Zuko, trying to hold back.

Zuko nods around him, and Sokka sinks his hand into Zuko’s hair. The sting of it sends a thrill through him and he sucks harder until Sokka pulls him off, breathing hard. A string of saliva and precum stretches between his mouth and the head of Sokka’s cock for a moment, obscene, and Sokka curses, wrestles Zuko’s boxers off.

“Get your leg up,” he orders harshly, and Zuko does, hooks an ankle over the back of the seat, shivering at how exposed he is. Sokka drops down and licks across his asshole, puckered tight in the cool air, and he shudders at the contrast as much as the act itself. He wonders wildly whether that’s Sokka’s plan—to slick him up with his tongue, eat him out until he’s open and begging for it, shove into him so that it hurts a little, so he feels it for days, shifting in his seat on the plane tomorrow.

The thought is appealing, but Sokka is fumbling in the seatback pocket next to him, and he comes back with a small bottle.

Zuko can’t help the snort that breaks free as Sokka thumbs the cap open and gives it a cursory sniff. “How old is that?” he cocks an eyebrow at him.

Sokka shrugs, “I used to like fucking dudes in my car. So sue me.” Apparently pleased with his cursory examination, he squeezes some onto his fingers and rubs them together to warm it. “Lube doesn’t really go bad,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Zuko’s neck at the same time that he circles a finger against him. Zuko gasps, feeling jittery and frayed, his nerves and emotions at the precipice.

“You haven’t—" he stops, unsure how to say this, but Sokka seems to know where he’s going.

“No one since you,” Sokka licks around the shell of his ear, finger sliding easily in to the first knuckle. “You?”

Zuko shakes his head mutely, concentrating on the satisfying stretch of Sokka’s finger in him. He shoves his hips a little, trying to get Sokka to press deeper, but Sokka just laughs at him. Laughing at him during sex should be banned.

He says as much, his voice going bratty and needy again, but Sokka just laughs harder. “You’re so cute,” he coos, and Zuko kicks him in the back. They’re awkwardly folded on the seat, Zuko’s legs bent up and around the various obstacles in the truck, Sokka kneeling with one knee on the seat, the other foot pressed for leverage against the floor next to them.

He’s got his entire finger inside of him now, though, pumping in and out so that it brushes Zuko’s prostate with each pass. Zuko hitches himself up, wanting to watch, but Sokka kisses him instead, pressing him back down. The tip of his second finger traces around the first, nudging alongside it. They both draw in shaky breaths against the other’s lips, and when Zuko clenches around him, Sokka groans.

“Keep that up and I can’t go slow,” he says gruffly.

“I don’t want you to,” Zuko whispers.

“Fuck,” Sokka pulls back, the fingers gone, and Zuko feels so vulnerable, hot and cold all over even though the cab is warming up now. He watches Sokka slick his cock with the remaining lube, toss the bottle carelessly to the floor before he shoves Zuko’s leg farther up and guides his dick to his hole, the tip just barely brushing him.

“Do it, fuck, I can’t wait, just…” Zuko begs, dignity abandoned the second Sokka pulled his hair.

“Okay, okay,” Sokka says soothingly, pressing forward. His thighs are shaking again, definitely trying not to go too fast, but Zuko _wants_ him to, goddammit.

He pushes at the door behind him, driving Sokka further into him, and Sokka lets out a great whoosh of air like he’s been punched, dropping down onto his arms over Zuko, hips snapping forward. Zuko stills, adjusting to the feeling of Sokka inside him again after so long, but it doesn’t take more than a few seconds.

“Go,” he says bossily, kicking Sokka again.

“You’re gonna leave a bruise if you keep doing that,” Sokka mutters, but he starts to move, hips beginning a slow roll that leaves Zuko panting and writhing under him, fingers digging into his lower back to urge him on.

It works, and soon he’s got one hand braced against the car door so he doesn’t hit his head, the other on Sokka’s ass, feeling the smooth glide of muscle as he thrusts into him. It’s so much, overwhelming and perfect, the pace relentless and rough, but then again they were never that good at taking it slow.

Sokka is whispering things to him, into his ear, his hair long fallen from its ponytail, draped around their faces like a curtain, shielding them from the world. Zuko wants to card fingers through it, but not enough to release his grip on Sokka’s ass. And he doesn’t want Sokka to get the impression that he wants him to stop pounding _his_ ass, because Sokka has hooked his elbow under Zuko’s knee for leverage and is hitting his prostate again, making him see stars.

“Sokka,” he gasps, trying to warm him, but then his hole is spasming around Sokka’s cock, and his cock is jerking, and he gets a hand around himself between them, coming all over his t-shirt.

“Fucking fuck, Zuko, shit, c’mon,” Sokka leans back, hands on Zuko’s hips, pulling him up as he just _keeps_ coming, pumping into him harder and harder until, “ _fuckfuckfuck_ _FUCK_ ,” Sokka comes, deep inside him, and Zuko can feel it, branding him from the inside out.

It takes a few seconds of Sokka staring reverently down at him before he thinks to pull out, fingers brushing gently over Zuko’s hole. Zuko hisses, oversensitive, but doesn’t really mind. Sokka’s fingers come away sticky with his own cum. Zuko opens his mouth, doesn’t need to ask before Sokka slides them inside, lets Zuko suck them clean. Sokka chases his mouth with his own, kisses him long and deep.

They have to pull apart eventually, take stock of their clothing situation. The windows of the truck are completely fogged, and Sokka laughs again.

Zuko shakes his head, grabbing for his sweatshirt. He needs to cover up the cum stains all over his shirt.

The ring box rolls out of the mess of clothing, and Zuko freezes.

Sokka follows his eyes to it, then they snap toward Zuko’s hand, where the gold band still glints.

“Well,” he says, retrieving it from the floor. He turns it over in his hands, smiling a little wistfully.

Zuko reaches for it, and Sokka lets him take it. Zuko opens it slowly, staring down at the matching silver band. His fingers shake as he pulls it free of the velvet and tosses the box away. He holds it out to Sokka, whose fingers stop just before touching it. Zuko’s hands are oddly steady now.

“Marry me?” he asks quietly.

“You fucker,” Sokka grabs it from him and practically smashes their mouths together.

“Ow,” Zuko complains.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Sokka says dramatically, and slides the ring home. He holds his hand out and examines it critically, like he’s never seen it before (like he wasn’t the one to pick it out) and cocks his head to the side. “I guess it’ll do,” he grins.

“You didn’t answer,” Zuko pouts.

“Yes,” Sokka says definitively.

“I guess we have to go tell Gran Gran she has another wedding to plan,” Zuko says, frankly frightened by the prospect.

“Is it too late to say no?” Sokka looks stricken, and only slightly surprised when Zuko kicks him again, hard this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments! Kudos! Hate mail! Fan mail! WE LOVE IT ALL!
> 
> Come find us:
> 
> [Piyo's art blog](http://piyo13sdoodles.tumblr.com/) and [Piyo's personal](http://piyo-13.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [beersforqueers on tumblr](http://omgbeersforqueers.tumblr.com/)


	8. The Week After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go...!!!

“Bro.”

“What?”

“Bro.”

“ _What_ , Sokka?”

Sokka comes up behind Zuko and drapes himself across his bare back, reaches across to depress a few keys on the piano in front of him. The notes ring out discordantly in the sleepy quiet of the Sunday morning, and Zuko indulges in a private smile that Sokka can’t see, looking down at his hands where they’re curled in his lap.

Moving Sokka back in was a production, if only because it felt like he’d acquired about 10,000 more houseplants in their month apart. Sokka’d staunchly declared that he wanted to take it slow while they kept sorting out the baggage from their breakup, unpacking resolutely in his old bedroom.

It had only taken two nights before Zuko woke up to Sokka sliding in under the covers of his own bed, across the apartment.

“Don’t say a single word,” Sokka had whispered, and Zuko had grinned into the back of Sokka’s neck as he curved around him and fell back to sleep.

Sokka continued to declare that he needed his own space, but that wasn’t any different than it had ever been—Zuko’s room was comparatively Spartan, and although they slept there, Sokka’s room was the general receptacle for books, art supplies, fairy lights, and that dumb boomerang he loved so much.

“Gran Gran wants to know about venues,” Sokka groans, pressing kisses down Zuko’s shoulder. Zuko shuffles his socked feet uncomfortably on the hardwood floor.

“Wherever you want,” he shrugs, and Sokka shifts with him.

“I don’t care,” Sokka says, and seems to really mean it.

“We should just elope.” Zuko rests his head back against Sokka’s shoulder.

“I’m not opposed,” Sokka laughs.

“What about the honeymoon? Where do you wanna go?” Zuko asks. He can picture Sokka on a gondola in Venice, excitedly explaining geological formations in Thailand, getting overzealous with the bear spray in the Tetons.

“We’re just gonna fuck the entire time; does it matter where we go?” Sokka asks reasonably, and Zuko snorts.

“We fuck all the time as it is,” he points out, “we might as well take a crazy trip while we have the excuse.”

“Fair enough,” Sokka says, then was quiet for a few moments. “Somewhere warm. Didn’t your mom, like, leave you an island?”

“She left me a house on one,” Zuko says cautiously. Ember Island is a complicated place for him—the scene of many childhood triumphs and catastrophes.

“We could get married there,” Sokka offers.

Zuko is silent for a while, long enough that Sokka sounds worried when he says, “Or not?”

“No,” Zuko says at last, drawing his hands out of his lap. His fingers alight on the keys, splayed as he decides what to play next. “Let’s do it. I want new memories there. And besides,” he ducks his head, bashful, “maybe we’ll take our kids there one day. Or whatever.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a fucking _sap_.” Sokka stands up and comes around the edge of the bench, plops himself down on Zuko’s lap, halfway on top of the piano. The keys depress with a discordant jangle.

“Hey! I was gonna play that,” Zuko squawks, accidentally mashing the keys as he tries to catch himself under Sokka’s considerable weight.

“Play me instead,” Sokka giggles, then affects a high pitched voice, “Play me like one of your French girls.”

“A) inaccurate quote,” Zuko says drily, “and B) that was not sexy.”

“You have no poetry in your soul,” Sokka sighs melodramatically. “Fine. Fuck me on the piano, Zuko.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

 

***

“Izumi! Stop tugging Momo’s tail!” Zuko yells, while Sokka roars with laughter beside him. “You aren’t helping,” Zuko glares.

“She’s _fine_ ,” Sokka cracks open a cider and passes it along to Zuko, who takes it grudgingly. Katara, very pregnant and sweating profusely, glares at him.

“God, I want a fucking beer,” she groans.

“ _Mommy!_ ” Kya falls backward with a splash, laughing hysterically at her mother’s cursing, and Aang and Sokka join her. Katara and Zuko exchange exasperated looks, and Toph snorts at them.

“I can feel the disapproval from over here,” she says, and Suki laughs gently, running a hand across Toph’s shoulder.

They’re all on chairs in front of Zuko and Sokka’s beach house, watching their kids play in the sand. Lin is bashing rocks together (Zuko has no clue what the fuck she’s trying to accomplish), Izumi is gambling near the ocean’s edge with Momo and Appa (Zuko winces at the amount of dog hair she’s bound to attract), and Kya and Bumi are splashing in the water (Kya may or may not be trying to drown her brother).

“You got the kids, ‘Tara?” Sokka asks, and Katara nods distractedly, half out of her chair as Bumi flails and resurfaces, sputtering and then cheering. She subsides, waving a hand distractedly at Sokka.

“Go do whatever, they’re fine.”

“Cool. Come help me with something, babe?” Sokka grabs Zuko by the elbow and drags him into the house. Hakoda, passed out on a lawn chair by the door, snuffles softly as they tiptoe past him.

“What’s up?” Zuko follows Sokka through the sliding doors and looks around the kitchen, but he doesn’t see anything Sokka might need assistance with.

“Nothing,” Sokka shrugs, and tangles his hands in the fabric of Zuko’s t-shirt, “I just wanted to jerk you off in the bathroom while everyone was occupied.”

“You,” Zuko grins and stumbles after him into the half bath, “are fucking ridiculous.”

“Gotta keep it spontaneous, man,” Sokka kisses him breathlessly, shoving him up against the sink and locking the door behind them. He yanks at the ties of Zuko’s shorts and slides a hand inside, palming Zuko where his cock is half hard.

“I’m not complaining,” Zuko gasps, trying to get at Sokka’s dick, but Sokka bats his hand away.

“Just kiss me,” Sokka whispers, and Zuko complies, tugging him in by the back of the neck to lick across the seam of his lips, tongue them apart and deepen the kiss. Sokka moans, thumb rubbing under the head of Zuko’s cock, completely hard now.

It’s not that their sex life has gone downhill since having a kid—if anything it feels more illicit, hidden away in places like this cramped, dim bathroom. But they still have to be careful, plan it in around playdates and school events and hockey practice (Zuko was horrified when Izumi decided to play Sokka’s favorite sport). Spontaneity hasn’t really been a part of their routine for a while now.

Zuko didn’t miss it, but that doesn’t mean he minds it either.

He laughs against Sokka’s mouth, letting it glide smoothly into a moan when Sokka nips at his bottom lip. His hand drags slowly up Zuko’s cock, and Zuko lets out a long, shuddering breath, fingers clenched tight in Sokka’s shirt. He tugs Sokka’s collar aside to suck reddish marks on the skin there, lathes his tongue over them. Sokka’s hand falters and then picks up speed, wrist twisting gently on the upstroke. Zuko jerks against him, tucks his face into the crook of Sokka’s neck. The skin there is soft and smooth, fever hot, and all he can do is gasp against it as the tension in his body builds. He feels every muscle in his body start to tingle, feels his spine pull taut, Sokka’s mouth at his ear telling him to _let go, let go, Zuko, let go_.

He comes, accidentally biting down on Sokka’s shoulder, his body snapping tight and then rebounding like a rubber band so that he sinks into Sokka’s warm body in the aftermath.

He lolls against Sokka, shudders under Sokka’s gentle hands smoothing his hair back from his face, arches up into Sokka’s lips on his. He vaguely remembers years ago in a different house stuffed full of their family, when this felt like an impossible eventuality—the only thing he truly couldn’t have.

Who’d have known that in the end it would be so easy?

He chuckles to himself and shakes his head when Sokka pulls back questioningly.

_Easy_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, Piyo taking over the note-making here--
> 
> We just wanted to say, _thank you_ all so much for all your comments and support throughout the process of writing and illustrating this fic--it's been quite a journey and every single one of your comments and kudos has, at one point or another, made our day. 
> 
> We hope you've enjoyed this final installment! (That being said, there is apparently a possibility of an extra scene for this fic ~~totally not piano sex~~ so keep an eye out on tumblr and Ao3 for that!)
> 
> Which segues nicely into the usual:  
> [beersforqueers on tumblr](http://omgbeersforqueers.tumblr.com)  
> [piyo on tumblr](http://piyo-13.tumblr.com) (and [piyo's art](http://piyo13sdoodles.tumblr.com) cause why not) 
> 
> Thank you again and don't forget to comment <3


	9. On the Piano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filthy dirty piano sex. Maybe one of the most explicit things I've ever written?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I was just rolling with that whole "in for a penny" thing, cause I started writing this and then it just kept getting to be more and more, and now it's this. So if you're looking for rimming/teasing/fingering/blow jobs/anal sex all in one place (and that place is on top of a piano), then this is for you!!!

When Zuko was very small, his father took him, his mother, and Azula on a business trip with him. His mother had taken him to an art museum in the unfamiliar city. It was an elegant white marble building, flanked by long wings. Out front there was a hulking statue of a man bent over in deep contemplation of the ground below his plinth. Zuko had hurried along after his mother, staring at the man as they passed. There was something intriguing about the muscled lines of his naked back.

Inside, Ursa swept him through a wide hall and into a side gallery, dropping his hand so she could peruse the painting around the walls. Zuko didn’t care much for them; they were _boring_ , stiff portraits and lifeless landscapes. But in the center of the room a single spotlight shone on the reclining figure of a woman. Like the man outside, she was elevated above him, casting a cool gaze toward the floor beneath his feet. She was smoother than the man had been, sculpted from marble instead of cast from bronze. Zuko liked the clean lines of her, the way the soft light diffused across her curves. He reached out a tiny finger and stroked carefully over her bare toe, so lifelike in her sandal that he was surprised when his fingertip met cold stone instead of living flesh.

He shivered and withdrew his finger just as Ursa swooped in to scoop him into her arms, chastising him for touching the priceless art. The oil from his grubby hands could mar the woman’s beauty, steal its enticing luster. Zuko buried his face into Ursa’s long, sweet-smelling hair and nodded. He didn’t want to hurt anything so beautiful.

The first time he saw Mai, he remembered the statue. Here was his own personal Penelope, with her flawless skin and high cheekbones, lolling insouciantly in the armchair of his family’s sitting room. Her unconcerned gaze passed over him and then drew back sharply, the lines of her body tightening with interest. He felt as though he’d been pinned by a searchlight, and when she rose gracefully from the chair and stepped close to him, he was stunned by her nearness. He had a hard time bringing himself to touch her during their relationship; not because he didn’t want to, but because she seemed so distant. He didn’t want to smear his dirty hands all over the soft swell of her hips, thumb the bow of her bottom lip without explicit permission.

When he’d met Sokka, it had been under the dim bar lights, and the angle of Sokka’s head caught the illumination at just the right angle to wreath him in a glowing halo. Zuko’s breath caught in his throat, and he was shunted sideways into a stool by a group of rowdy bachelorette partygoers. Sokka laughed as he turned to accept their orders, and Aang elbowed Zuko in the gut, smirking knowingly. Then his arm dropped and his eyes went very wide. One of the women in the party group was leaning over the bar to talk to the bartender, and she was unmistakably his sister.

“Whoa,” Aang whispered, eyes fixed on the dark sheet of hair swinging over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Zuko said, mentally tracing the cut of the bartender’s cheekbones, the shadows cast by the overhead fixtures.

Then he turned his head and his eyes met Zuko’s, and Zuko flung a hand out to steady himself on Aang. He met only air. _Traitor_ , he thought; Aang was sidling up to the party to get a closer look at the pretty girl.

That was when he’d met Sokka, and a week later Aang had given Katara his number (after doing careful “reconnaissance” to place himself at her favorite coffee shop during her peak study hours), and six months later they were all doing couple-y activities together, like going to _brunch_.

It took Zuko a long time to settle into casual touches from Sokka, let alone begin to touch him back. Zuko thought that maybe there was something broken in his brain, because he was having to relearn that touch was _good_ , that it was something other people might _want_ from him. But Sokka was patient and they got better, _he_ got better, and by the time they broke up, it was reasonable to stroke his thumb absentmindedly across Sokka’s bare ankle in his lap or duck into the shower behind him and encircle his waist with soapy hands.

But today, here and now in this afternoon, everything felt new again.

There was Sokka, nonchalantly lying across his lap and the piano, asking to be fucked on it, and Zuko was tongue-tied. Sokka’s hair was a loose cloud around his face, and a ray of brilliant sunlight obscured half his face. He looked ethereal and untouchable, and Zuko stretched out reverent fingers to brush across his jaw. He expected cool marble and met warm skin, and the soft sigh that huffed out of Sokka’s lips was very much alive.

“What are you waiting for?” Sokka asked, looping his arms around Zuko’s neck. “You got that serious look on your face.”

“Right,” Zuko said, and took a deep breath. He stood up, dislodging Sokka from his lap, and reached behind him to pull the protective lid down over the piano’s keys. Sokka hopped back up onto it, and Zuko winced. It couldn’t be comfortable to be perched with half his ass on the glossy wood and the music stand digging into his lower back. Sokka didn’t look even a little bit fazed.

Zuko walked over to his bedside table, ignored Sokka’s whine of impatience, and rummaged around until he found a bottle of lube. They’d fucked in the last week, so he wasn’t sure why he was reacting like this now, but maybe it had taken a week of being back together for reality to hit him. It wasn’t until he was closing the drawer that he realized why he felt so lightheaded.

He was _happy_.

He was still for just long enough that Sokka called, “You ok over there?”

“I’m great,” Zuko said, and turned back around. He couldn’t keep a ridiculous grin off of his face at the sight of Sokka smartly divesting himself of his clothes.

“I prepped earlier,” Sokka said, eyeing the tube in Zuko’s hand. Zuko swallowed, his grin sliding off his face as he was hit with the mental image of Sokka on his back in the other room, forehead furrowed in concentration with two fingers deep in his ass. For Zuko.

“Still,” Zuko whispered, and dropped onto the piano bench, his face about level with Sokka’s cock. “Also, sex on the pinao is wildly impractical,” he reminded Sokka, but Sokka just laughed.

“Come one, this is like a top 10 fantasy of mine,” he pulled a knee up and propped his foot on the key lid. Zuko swallowed again as this revealed the small pink pucker of his hole. “I do yoga for a reason.”

Zuko did have to admit that Sokka was very flexible. He somehow managed to make this look effortless even with his ass hanging off and leg spread to the side, elbows resting on the lid for balance. “Plus, you barely ever fuck me. We gotta make it special.”

“Fine, fine,” Zuko put a warm palm on the back of Sokka’s thigh and leaned down.

He could make this special.

He ran a forefinger around the tight rim of Sokka’s asshole. It was already slick and glistening, and he watched as the muscles fluttered in anticipation. He leaned in and blew a stream of gentle air over it, ignoring Sokka’s impatient swearing above him. He had the feeling that if Sokka could manage it without falling off the piano, he’d be fisting his hand in Zuko’s hair already.

Smiling a little at that, Zuko darted the tip of his tongue over Sokka’s perineum, feather-light. Sokka shuddered, and he pressed a wet kiss to his hole, pushed with his tongue until he felt the muscle give. He licked into Sokka’s body carefully, tasting the soapy chemicals of the lube, the sweet musk of Sokka’s body wash. He loved doing this even almost as much as he loved having it done to him, and the wet heat of Sokka’s body and Zuko’s mouth coming together almost wrecked him. He laid into Sokka with soft kitten licks, then thrust into him mercilessly, used his thumbs to hook Sokka’s cheeks apart before he got bold and slid one inside of him. He tongued around his digit, felt the tightness of Sokka’s rim stretched around him, thrilled at the sound Sokka made when he pumped his thumb in and out.

He trailed his mouth up a little, kept his thumb inside Sokka while he nosed at his balls and kissed up Sokka’s cock, took the tip of it into his mouth and sucked. The temptation to make him come like this was strong, and he didn’t see why he shouldn’t. He pushed his thumb in deeper and sucked harder, felt Sokka convulse around him, heard him cry out.

“Zuko, c’mon, don’t—“ Sokka gritted out, and Zuko pulled off.

“What?” he asked, throat scratchy, fingers lazily toying with the rim of Sokka’s asshole. He pulled this thumb out and slicked two fingers of his left hand, pressing just the tips of into him. Sokka’s eyelids fell shut as his body opened without hesitation. He was so hot and tight, Zuko had to marvel that his dick could even fit.

“Gonna make me come,” Sokka panted, hips wriggling against Zuko’s hand to pull him deeper.

“Yeah, I know,” Zuko smirked, and licked up his shaft. He relaxed his throat carefully; he’d never been great at deep throating, but he took pride in meticulous blowjobs. Sure enough, Sokka was spitting profanity by the time Zuko swallowed around his cock, the gentle contractions of his throat throwing Sokka over the edge. He came so hard Zuko nearly choked, fingers stilling deep in Sokka’s ass as he yanked his head back. Sokka spurted across his lips and cheek, a stripe glancing across the lower edge of his scar and landing in his hair. He pulled a face but took it, liking the wild devastation in Sokka’s eyes when he opened them to see Zuko dripping with his cum.

“Fuck,” Sokka teetered on the edge of the piano lid and reached out to drag a finger across Zuko’s mouth. His eyes were very wide and dark, color high in his cheeks. He thumbed Zuko’s mouth back open, and Zuko moaned at the salt tang clinging to the finger Sokka slid it into his mouth. “ _Fuck_ ,” Sokka said more vehemently.

Zuko felt a deep satisfaction settle in his chest. He used a finger to skim the cum off of his cheek, then stared at it for a long second before looking back at where his fingers were still inside of Sokka. Sokka’s hole was loose and sloppy already, the muscles contracting weakly as Sokka came down from his orgasm. Zuko smirked again as he worked another finger into him, pushing Sokka’s cum in with it. Sokka gave a little jerk, but didn’t protest. Zuko had the feeling that his softened cock wouldn’t stay that way for long.

He watched Sokka for a little while, slowly thrusting his fingers into him with lube and cum to slick the way, listening for Sokka’s little moans as his cock started to plump again. Zuko had to squeeze at the base of his own dick, tug at his balls to keep himself in check while he stretched Sokka open. It felt like both a long time and the span of only a few seconds; they were in that strange liminal space sex afforded, where hours could pass in the space of moments and the only thing they felt was _good_. Zuko wasn’t in any hurry for his own pleasure, and Sokka was ramping back up to reach his again.

“Kiss me,” Sokka finally mumbled, and Zuko hooked an arm under his knee to drag it up, keep Sokka nice and open while he reached the other hand up to cup Sokka’s head. The kiss was rough and desperate, Sokka blissed out but still greedy. He sunk his teeth into Zuko’s lip just to hear him groan, tried to get a hand between them to palm at Zuko’s dick. Zuko retaliated by tapping his fingers lightly at Sokka’s prostate, and Sokka broke the kiss, back arching and head falling back. Zuko mouthed at his neck, bit down on his shoulder a little harder than necessary, grinned when it made Sokka moan.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he whispered into Sokka’s ear, and Sokka nodded jerkily, hips rolling against Zuko’s fingers. “Spread you open,” Zuko continued, “come inside you,”—Sokka whimpered—,”fill you up with it.”

“Fuck, yeah, please,” Sokka mumbled, and he sounded almost pained, his dick mostly hard again. God, everything must be oversensitive and raw right now, but he was still hungry for Zuko’s cock, still wanted him so bad. Zuko had to bury his face in Sokka’s chest while he pulled his fingers slowly free, too overwhelmed by Sokka’s need to look him in the face. The fact that he wanted Zuko, that he _craved_ him this way, made him feel too much.

He lined his cock up, brushed the tip over the swollen rim of Sokka’s asshole before starting to push inside. He moved steadily, trying not to go too fast even when Sokka begged him to. He didn’t meet any resistance, but he wanted to drag this out for his own sake, wanted to feel every inch as it slid into the hot clutch of Sokka’s body.

Being balls deep in Sokka always felt slightly unreal, because nothing could be so hot and tight and slick. He started moving before he let himself think about it too much, hips setting up a slow rhythm that made Sokka smack him with impatience.

“Fuck me like you mean it,” he complained, and Zuko sucked on the bite mark to make him shut up.

“Fine,” he grumbled, but he suspected that it came out more raspy than angry. It was impossible to summon any negative emotion while Sokka was begging to be fucked.

He pulled almost all the way out before driving back in, setting a new pace that made Sokka slide up the piano and set the lid rattling. Zuko had waited so long for this, had barely touched his own cock since they began, and while he wasn’t eager to end this, he could already feel his orgasm bearing down on him. He fucked Sokka as hard as he could, setting his legs wide and shoving Sokka’s knees up to his chest. Sokka urged him on, his cock leaking between them, and when Zuko hit his prostate he practically yelled.

“Think you can come like this?” Zuko slowed just enough to form the words, hips moving in a dirty grind. It felt fucking filthy to be this far in Sokka, to listen to him being bossy and slutty while stuffed with his own cum and Zuko’s cock.

“Fuck yeah,” Sokka said, and it sounded so boastful that Zuko had to laugh.

“Fine then,” he started back up again, snapping his hips until he was pounding into Sokka and they were both crying out, both about to come, the piano squeaking on the hardwood, the room full of the smell of sex.

Zuko came first by a narrow margin, mouth stretched wide as he thrust wildly into Sokka, pulling out just to shove back in and fill him up. Sokka clutched at his shoulders, forgetting to balance, only saved from falling because he was impaled on Zuko’s dick. All of his muscles locked, knees drawn up to his shoulders, hole milking Zuko’s cock.

“Shit,” Zuko’s head thudded down onto Sokka’s shoulder, and he wanted nothing more than to collapse onto him. Instead he stepped back and pulled out. Sokka hissed a little at the sensation, but reached for Zuko to steady himself as he climbed off of the piano. He stretched his legs out, wincing, and then flung himself unceremoniously onto Zuko’s bed.

“You’re gonna get cum on my bedspread,” Zuko said over his shoulder as he padded to the bathroom.

“Don’t care,” Sokka’s voice was muffled by the blankets.

Zuko came back with a warm washcloth and nudged Sokka’s legs apart. He knelt at the end of the bed and ran it gently over Sokka’s ass, then poked at him until he rolled over and let Zuko clean his cock and abdomen. He groaned again as the cloth travelled over him, oversensitive and tired, but Zuko shushed him.  
When he was done, Zuko climbed onto the bed next to him and tucked his arm under his head. Sokka rolled over until he could rest his head on Zuko’s chest and fling an arm over his stomach. Zuko pressed a kiss to the top of Sokka’s head, knowing Sokka was already half-asleep. They could take an afternoon nap, eat a late dinner, maybe watch a movie later.

These days, they had all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, those statues are Rodin's The Thinker, and Franklin Simmons' Penelope, both at the Detroit Institute of Arts.

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless self-promotion: [beersforqueers on tumblr](http://omgbeersforqueers.tumblr.com/)


End file.
